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THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
AND 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 







Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2021 with funding from a 
University of North Carolina at Chapel Hil 











https://archive.org/details/completeworksofh 14bal: 








The Jealousies of a 


Country ‘Town 


Colonial Press Company 
Boston and New York 





ee - a R we ea ee 


Copyrighted, 1901 
By JoHN D. AvIL- 


All rights reserved 





INTRODUCTION 


THE two stories of Les Rivalités are more closely connected 
than it was always Balzac’s habit to connect the tales which 
he united under a common heading. Not only are both de- 
voted to the society of Alencon—a town and neighborhood 
to which he had evidently strong, though it is not clearly 
known what, attractions—not only is the Chevalier de Valois 
a notable figure in each; but the community, imparted by the 
elaborate study of the old noblesse in each case, is even greater 
than either of these ties could give. Indeed, if instead of 
Les Rivalités the author had chosen some label indicating 
the study of the noblesse qui s’en va, it might almost have 
been preferable. He did not, however; and though in a man 
who so constantly changed his titles and his arrangements 
the actual ones are not excessively authoritative, they have 
authority. 

La Viele Fille, despite a certain tone of levity—which, 
to do Balzac justice, is not common with him, and which 
is rather hard upon the poor heroine—is one of the best and 
liveliest things he ever did. The opening picture of the 
Chevalier, though, like other things of its author’s, especially 
in his overtures, liable to the charge of being elaborated a 
little too much, is one of the very best things of its kind, and 
is a sort of locus classicus for its subject. The whole picture 
of country town society is about as good as it can be; and 
the only blot that I know is to be found in the sentimental 
Athanase, who was not quite within Balzac’s province, ex- 

BAD (vii) 


ty \ tA ne, 


V5 , & me Seer ea 
ne aye Stay 


viii INTRODUCTION 


tensive as that province is. If we compare Mr. Augustus 
Moddle, we shall see one of the not too numerous instances 
in which Dickens has a clear advantage over Balzac; and 
if it be retorted that Balzac’s object was not to present a 
merely ridiculous object, the rejoinder is not very far to seek. 
Such a character, with such a fate as Balzac has assigned to 
him, must be either humorously grotesque or unfeignedly 
pathetic, and Balzac has not quite made Athanase either. 

He is, however, if he is a failure, about the only failure in 
the book, and he is atoned for by a whole bundle of successes. 
Of the Chevalier, little more need be said. Balzac, it 
must be remembered, was the oldest novelist of distinct 
genius who had the opportunity of delineating the survivors 
of the ancien régime from the life, and directly. It is certain 
—even if we hesitate at believing him quite so familiar with 
all the classes of higher society from the Faubourg down- 
wards, as he would have us believe him—that he saw some- 
thing of most of them, and his genius was unquestionably 
of the kind to which a mere thumbnail study, a mere passing 
view, suffices for the acquisition of a thorough working 
knowledge of the object. In this case the Chevalier has 
served, and not improperly served, as the original of a thou- 
sand after-studies. His rival, less carefully projected, is also 
perhaps a little less alive. Again, Balzac was old enough 
to have foregathered with many men of the Revolution. But 
the most characteristic of them were not long-lived, the 
“little window” and other things having had a bad effect on 
them; and most of those who survived had, by the time he 
was old enough to take much notice, gone through metamor- 
phoses of Bonapartism, Constitutional Liberalism, and what 
not, But still du Bousquier 1s alive, as well as all the minor 


INTRODUCTION ix 


assistants and spectators in the battle for the old maid’s hand. 
Suzanne, that tactful and graceless Suzanne to whom we are 
introduced first of all, is very much alive; and for all her 
gracelessness, not at all disagreeable. [ am only sorry that 
she sold the counterfeit presentment of the Princess Goritza 
after all. 

Le Cabinet des Antiques, in its Alencon scenes, is a worthy 
pendant to La Vieille Fille. The old-world honor of the 
Marquis d’Esgrignon, the thankless sacrifices of Armande, 
the prisca fides of Maitre Chesnel, present pictures for which, 
out of Balzac, we can look only in Jules Sandeau, and which 
in Sandeau, though they are presented with a more poetical 
touch, have less masterly outline than here. One takes—or, 
at least, I take—less interest in the ignoble intrigues of the 
other side, except in so far as they menace the fortunes of a 
worthy house unworthily represented. Victurnien d’Es- 
grignon, like his companion, Savinien de Portenduére (who, 
however, is, in every respect, a very much better fellow), does 
not argue in Balzac any high opinion of the fils de famille. 
He is, in fact, an extremely feeble youth, who does not seem to 
have got much real satisfaction out of the escapades, for 
which he risked not merely his family’s fortune, but his own 
honor, and who would seem to have been a rake, not from 
natural taste and spirit and relish, but because it seemed to 
him to be the proper thing to be. But the beginnings of the 
fortune of the aspiring and intriguing Camusots are ad- 
mirably painted; and Madame de Maufrigneuse, that rather 
doubtful divinity, who appears so frequently in Balzac, here 
acts the dea ex machina with considerable effect. And we end 
well (as we generally do when Blondet, whom Balzac seems 
more than once to adopt as mask, is the narrator), in the 


x INTRODUCTION 


last glimpse of Mlle. Armande left alone with the remains 
of her beauty, the ruins of everything dear to her—and 
God. 

These two stories were written at no long interval, yet, 
for some reason or other, Balzac did not at once unite them. 
La Vieille Fille first appeared in November and December 
1836 in the Presse, and was inserted next year in the Scénes 
de la Vie de Province. It had three chapter divisions. The 
second part did not appear all at once. Its first instalment, 
under the general title, came out in the Chronique de Paris 
even before the Viele Fille appeared in March 1836; the 
completion was not published (under the title of Les Rivalités 
en Province) till the autumn of 1838, when the Constitu- 
tionnel served. as its vehicle. There were eight chapter divi- 
sions in this latter. The whole of the Cabinet was published 
in book form (with Gambara to follow it) in 1839. There 
were some changes here; and the divisions were abolished 
when the whole book in 1844 entered the Comédie. One of 
the greatest mistakes which, in my humble judgment, the 
organizers of the édition définitwe have made, is their adop- 
tion of Balzac’s never executed separation of the pair and 
deletion of the excellent joint-title Les Rivalités. 

LD’Interdiction belongs with the Honorine group in Scénes 
de la Vie Privée, being placed here for purpose of con- 
venience. It is good in its own way. It is indeed impossible 
to say that there is not in the manner, though perhaps there 
may be none in the fact, of the Marquis d’Espard’s restitu- 
tion, and the rest of it, a little touch of the madder side of 
Quixotism; and one sees all the speculative and planning 
Balzac in that notable scheme of the great work on China, 
which brought in far, far more, I fear, than any work on 


INTRODUCTION xi 


China ever has or is likely to bring in to its devisers. But 
the conduct of Popinot, in his interview with the Marquise, 
is really admirable. The great scenes of fictitious finesse 
do not always “come off ;” we do not invariably find ourselves 
experiencing that sense of the ability of his characters which 
the novelist appears to entertain, and expects us to entertain 
likewise. But this is admirable; it is, with Charles de 
Bernard’s Le Gendre, perhaps the very best thing of the kind 
to be found anywhere. This story would serve to show any 
intelligent critic that genius of no ordinary kind had passed 
that way. 

L’Interdiction first appeared in the Chronique de Paris 
in 1836; was at first separated from the Htudes Philoso- 
phiques to be a Scéne de la Vie Parisienne. Gass 





CONTENTS 


PAGE 


INTRODUCTION - - - - vii 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN: 


THE OLD MAID - 3 m = I 


THE COLLECTION OF ANTIQUITIES - - 147 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY - - 303 





ILLUSTRATIONS 


PHOTOGRAVURES 


‘“‘AH, SUSANNE, IS THAT YOU?”? (II) 


HE LISTENED PATIENTLY ... TO TALES 
OF THE LITTLE WOES OF LIFE IN A 


COUNTRY TOWN - 


AT ONCE HE TURNED TO LOOK AT ATH- 


ANASE - = = 


‘“WHAT IS IT, MONSIEUR?’’ SHE ASKED, 


POSING IN HER DISORDER 


Frontispiece 


PAGE 


- 242 





THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


THE OLD MAID 


To M. Eugéne Auguste Georges Louis Midy de la Greneraye 
Surville, Civil Engineer of the Corps Royal, a token of affection 
from his brother-in-law. DE BALZzac. 


PLENTY of people must have come across at least one 
Chevalier de Valois in the provinces; there was one in 
Normandy, another was extant at Bourges, a third flourished 
at Alencon in the year 1816, and the South very likely pos- 
sessed one of its own. But we are not here concerned with 
the numbering of the Valois tribe. Some of them, no doubt, 
were about as much of Valois as Louis XIV. was a Bourbon; 
and every Chevalier was so slightly acquainted with the rest, 
that it was anything but politic to mention one of them when 
speaking to another. All of them, however, agreed to leave 
the Bourbons in perfect tranquillity on the throne of France, 
for it is a little too well proven that Henri IV. succeeded to 
the crown in default of heirs male in the Orléans, otherwise 
the Valois branch; so that if any Valois exist at all, they must 
be descendants of Charles of Valois, Duke of Angouléme, and 
Marie Touchet; and even there the direct line was extinct 
(unless proof to the contrary is forthcoming) in the person 
of the Abbé de Rothelin. As for the Valois Saint-Remy, 
descended from Henri II., they likewise came to an end with 
the too famous Lamothe-Valois of the Diamond Necklace 
affair. 

Every one of the Chevaliers, if information is correct, was, 
like the Chevalier of Alencon, an elderly noble, tall, lean, and 
without fortune. The Bourges Chevalier had emigrated, the 


(1) 


2 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


Touraine Valois went into hiding during the Revolution, and 
the Alencon Chevalier was mixed up in the Vendean war, 
and implicated to some extent in Chouannerie. The last- 
named gentleman spent the most part of his youth in Paris, 
where, at the age of thirty, the Revolution broke in upon his 
career of conquests. Accepted as a true Valois by persons 
of the highest quality in his province, the Chevalier de Valois 
d’Alengon (like his namesakes) was remarkable for his fine 
manners, and had evidently been accustomed to move in the 
best society. 

He dined out every day, and played cards of an evening, 
and, thanks to one of his weaknesses, was regarded as a great 
wit; he had a habit of relating a host of anecdotes of the 
times of Louis Quinze, and those who heard his stories for the 
first time thought them passably well narrated. The Chevalier 
de Valois, moreover, had one virtue; he refrained from repeat- 
ing his own good sayings, and never alluded to his conquests, 
albeit his smiles and airs were delightfully indiscreet. ‘The 
old gentleman took full advantage of the old-fashioned 
Voltairean noble’s privilege of staying away from Mass, but 
his irreligion was very tenderly dealt with out of regard for 
his devotion to the Royalist cause. 

One of his most remarkable graces (Molé must have 
learned it of him) was his way of taking snuff from an old- 
fashioned snuff-box with a portrait of a lady on the lid. The 
Princess Goritza, a lovely Hungarian, had been famous for 
her beauty towards the end of the reign of Louis XV.; and 
the Chevalier could never speak without emotion of the 
foreign great lady whom he loved in his youth, for whom he 
had fought a duel with M. de Lauzun. | 

But by this time the Chevalier had lived fifty-eight years, 
and if he owned to but fifty of them, he might safely indulge 
himself in that harmless deceit. Thin, fair-complexioned 
men, among other privileges, retain that youthfulness of shape 
which in men, as in women, contributes as much as anything 
to stave off any appearance of age. And, indeed, it is a fact 
that all the life, or rather, all the grace, which is the expres- 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 3 


sion of life, lies in the figure. Among the Chevalier’s per- 
sonal traits, mention must be made of the portentous nose 
with which Nature had endowed him. It cut a pallid 
countenance sharply into two sections which seemed to have 
nothing to do with each other; so much so, indeed, that only 
one-half of his face would flush with the exertion of digestion 
after dinner; all the glow being confined to the left side, a 
phenomenon worthy of note in times when physiology is so 
much occupied with the human heart. M. de Valois’ health 
was not apparently robust, judging by his long, thin legs, 
lean frame, and sallow complexion; but he ate like an ogre, 
alleging, doubtless by way of excuse for his voracity, that he 
suffered from a complaint known in the provinces as a “hot 
liver.” The flush on his left cheek confirmed the story; but 
in a land where meals are developed on the lines of thirty or 
forty dishes, and last for four hours at a stretch, the 
Chevalier’s abnormal appetite might well seem to be a special 
mark of the favor of Providence vouchsafed to the good town. 
That flush on the left cheek, according to divers medical 
authorities, is a sign of prodigality of heart; and, indeed, the 
Chevalier’s past record-of gallantry might seem to confirm 
a professional dictum for which the present chronicler (most 
fortunately) is in nowise responsible. But in spite of these 
symptoms, M. de Valois was of nervous temperament, and in 
consequence long-lived; and if his liver was hot, to use the 
old-fashioned phrase, his heart was not a whit less inflamma- 
ble. If there was a line worn here and there in his face, and 
a silver thread or so in his hair, an experienced eye would 
have discerned in these signs and tokens the stigmata of 
desire, the furrows traced by past pleasure. And, in fact, in 
his face, the unmistakable marks of the crow’s foot and the 
serpent’s tooth took the shape of the delicate wrinkles so 
prized at the court of Cytherea. 

Everything about the gallant Chevalier revealed the “ladies’ 
man.” So minutely careful was he over his ablutions, that 
it was a pleasure to see his cheeks; they might have been 
brushed over with some miraculous water. That portion of 


4 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


his head which the hair refused to hide from view shone like 
ivory. His eyebrows, like his hair, had a youthful look, so 
carefully was their growth trained and regulated by the comb. 
A naturally fair skin seemed to be yet further whitened by 
some mysterious preparation; and while the Chevalier never 
used scent, there was about him, as it were, a perfume of 
youth which enhanced the freshness of his looks. His hands, 
that told of race, were as carefully kept as if they belonged 
to some coxcomb of the gentler sex; you could not help notic- 
ing those rose-pink neatly-trimmed finger-nails. Indeed, but 
for his lordly superlative nose, the Chevalier would have 
looked like a doll. 

It takes some resolution to spoil this portrait with the ad- 
mission of a foible; the Chevalier put cotton wool in his ears, 
and. still continued to wear ear-rings—two tiny negroes’ heads 
set with brilliants. They were of admirable workmanship, 
it igtrue, and their owner was so far attached to the singular 
appendages, that he used to justify his fancy by saying “that 
his sick headaches had left him since his ears were pierced.” 
He used to suffer from sick headaches. The Chevalier is not 
held up as a flawless character; but even if an old bachelor’s 
heart sends too much blood to his face, is he never therefore 
to be forgiven for his adorable absurdities? Perhaps (who 
knows?) there are sublime secrets hidden away beneath them. 
And besides, the Chevalier de Valois made amends for his 
negroes’ heads with such a variety of other and different 
charms, that society ought to have felt itself sufficiently com- 
pensated. He really was at great pains to conceal his age and 
to make himself agreeable. 

First and foremost, witness the extreme care which he gave 
to his linen, the one distinction in dress which a gentleman 
may permit himself in modern days. The Chevalier’s linen 
was invariably fine and white, as befitted a noble. His coat, 
though remarkably neat, was always somewhat worn, but spot- 
less and uncreased. The preservation of this garment 
bordered on the miraculous in the opinion of those who 
noticed the Chevalier’s elegant indifference on this head; not 


THH JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN d 


that he went so far as to scrape his clothes with broken glass 
(a refinement invented by the Prince of Wales), but he set 
himself to carry out the first principles of dress as laid down 
by Englishmen of the very highest and finest fashion, and this 
with a personal element of coxcombry which Alencon was 
scarcely capable of appreciating. Does the world owe no 
esteem to those that take such pains for it? And what was 
ali this labor but the fulfilment of that very hardest of sayings 
in the Gospel, which bids us return good for evil? The fresh- 
ness of the toilet, the care for dress, suited well with the 
Chevalier’s blue eyes, ivory teeth, and bland personality ; still, 
the superannuated Adonis had nothing masculine in his ap- 
pearance, and it would seem that he employed the illusion 
of the toilet to hide the ravages of other than military 
campaigns. | 

To tell the whole truth, the Chevalier had a voice singularly 
at variance with his delicate fairness. So full was it and 
sonorous, that you would have been startled by the sound of it 
unless, with certain observers of human nature, you held the 
theory that the voice was only what might be expected of such 
a nose. With something less of volume than a giant double- 
bass, it was a full, pleasant baritone, reminding you of the 
hautboy among musical instruments, sweet and resistant, deep 
and rich. 

M. de Valois had discarded the absurd costume still worn 
by a few antiquated Royalists, and frankly modernized his 
dress. He always appeared in a maroon coat with gilt but- 
tons, loosely-fitting breeches with gold buckles at the knees, 
a white sprigged waistcoat, a tight stock, and a collarless 
shirt ; this being a last vestige of eighteenth century costume, 
which its wearer was the less willing to relinquish because it 
enabled him to display a throat not unworthy of a lay abbe. 
Square gold buckles of a kind unknown to the present genera- 
tion shone conspicuous upon his patent leather shoes. ‘T'wo 
watch chains hung in view in parallel lines from a couple of 
fobs, another survival of an eighteenth century mode which 
the incroyable did not disdain to copy in the time of the 


6 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


Directory. This costume of a transition period, reuniting 
two centuries, was worn by the Chevalier with the grace of an 
old-world marquis, a grace lost to the French stage since 
Molé’s last pupil, Fleury, retired from the boards and took his 
secret with him. 

The old bachelor’s private life, seemingly open to all eyes, 
was in reality inscrutable. He lived in a modest lodging 
(to say the least of it) up two pairs of stairs in a house in the 
Rue du Cours, his landlady being the laundress most in re- 
quest in Alencon—which fact explains the extreme elegance 
of the Chevalier’s linen. Ill luck was so to order it that 
Alengon one day could actually believe that he had 
not always conducted himself as befitted a man of his 
quality, and that in his old age he privately married one 
Césarine, the mother of an infant which had the impertinence 
to come without being called. 

“He gave his hand to her who for so long had lent her 
hand to iron his linen,” said a certain M. du Bousquier. 

The sensitive noble’s last days were the more vexed by 
this unpleasant scandal, because, as shall be shown in the 
course of this present Scene, he had already lost a long- 
cherished hope for which he had made many a sacrifice. 

Mme. Lardot’s two rooms were let to M. le Chevalier de 
Valois at the moderate rent of a hundred francs per annum. 
The worthy gentleman dined out every night, and only came 
home to sleep; he was therefore at charges for nothing but 
his breakfast, which always consisted of a cup of chocolate 
with butter and fruit, according to the season. A fire was 
never lighted in his rooms except in the very coldest winters, 
and then only while he was dressing. Between the hours of 
eleven and four M. de Valois took his walks abroad, read the 
newspapers, and paid calls. 

When the Chevalier first settled in Alencon, he magnani- 
mously owned that he had nothing but an annuity of six 
hundred livres paid in quarterly instalments by his old man 
of business, with whom the certificates were deposited. This 
was all that remained of his former wealth. And every three 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 7 


months, in fact, a banker in the town paid him a hundred and 
fifty francs remitted by one M. Bordin of Paris, the last of 
the procureurs du Chatelet. 'These particulars everybody 
knew, for the Chevalier had taken care to ask his confidant 
to keep the matter a profound secret. He reaped the 
fruits of his misfortunes. A cover was laid for him 
in all the best houses in Alengon; he was asked to every 
evening party. His talents as a card-player, a teller of 
anecdotes, a pleasant and well-bred man of the world, were so 
thoroughly appreciated that an evening was spoiled if the 
connoisseur of the town was not present. The host and 
hostess and all the ladies present missed his little approving 
grimace. “You are adorably well dressed,’ from the old 
bachelor’s lips, was sweeter to a young woman in a ballroom 
than the sight of her rival’s despair. 

There were certain old-world expressions which no one 
could pronounce so well. “My heart,” “my jewel,’ “my little 
love,’ “my queen,” and all the dear diminutives of the year 
1770 took an irresistible charm from M. de Valois’ lips; in 
short, the privilege of superlatives was his. His compli- 
ments, of which, moreover, he was chary, won him the good- 
will of the elderly ladies; he flattered every one down to the 
officials of whom he had no need. 

He was so fine a gentleman at the card-table, that his be- 
havior would have marked him out anywhere. He never com- 
_ plained; when his opponents lost he praised their play; he 
never undertook the education of his partners by showing 
them what they ought to have done. If a nauseating discus- 
sion of this kind began while the cards were making, the 
Chevalier brought out his snuff-box with a gesture worthy of 
Molé, looked at the Princess Goritza’s portrait, took off the 
lid in a stately manner, heaped up a pinch, rubbed 
it to a fine powder between finger and thumb, blew off 
the light particles, shaped a little cone in his hand, 
and by the time the cards were dealt he had replenished 
the cavities in his nostrils and replaced the Princess 
in his waistcoat pocket—always to the left-hand side, 


8 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


None but a noble of the Gracious as distinguished from 
the Great Century could have invented such a compromise 
between a disdainful silence and an epigram which would - 
have passed over the heads of his company. The Chevalier 
took dull minds as he found them, and knew how to turn 
them to account. His irresistible evenness of temper caused 
many a one to say, “I admire the Chevalier de Valois!” 
Everything about him, his conversation and his manner, 
seemed in keeping with his mild appearance. He was care- 
ful to come into collision with no one, man or woman. In- 
dulgent with deformity as with defects of intellect, he listened 
patiently (with the help of the Princess Goritza) to tales of 
the little woes of life in a country town; to anecdotes of the 
undercooked egg at breakfast, or the sour cream in the coffee; 
to small grotesque details of physical ailments; to tales of 
dreams and visitations and wakings with a start. The 
Chevalier was an exquisite listener. He had a languishing 
glance, a stock attitude to denote compassion; he put in his 
“Ohs” and “Poohs” and “What-did-you-dos ?” with charming 
appropriateness. ‘Till his dying day no one ever suspected 
that while these avalanches of nonsense lasted, the Chevalier 
in his own mind was rehearsing the warmest passages of an 
old romance, of which the Princess Goritza was the heroine. 
Has any one ever given a thought to the social uses of extinct 
sentiment ?—or guessed in how many indirect ways love bene- 
fits humanity ? 

Possibly this listener’s faculty sufficiently explains the 
Chevalier’s popularity ; he was always the spoiled child of the 
town, although he never quitted a drawing-room without 
carrying off about five livres in his pocket. Sometimes he 
lost, and he made the most of’ his losses, but it very seldom 
happened. All those who knew him say with one accord that 
never in any place have they met with so agreeable a mummy, 
not even in the Egyptian museum at Turin. Surely in no 
known country of the globe did parasite appear in such a 
benignant shape. Never did selfishness in its most concen- 
trated form show itself so inoffensive, so full of good offices 








hey 


ane fa 





THE Tite da SLES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 9 


as in this gentleman; the Chevalier’s egoism was as good as 
another man’s devoted friendship. If any person went to 
ask M. de Valois to do some trifling service which the worthy 
Chevalier could not perform without inconvenience, that per- 
son never went away without conceiving a great liking for 
him, and departed fully convinced that the Chevalier could 
do nothing in the matter, or might do harm if he meddled 
with it. 

To explain this problematical existence the chronicler is 
bound to admit, while Truth—that ruthless debauchee—has 
caught him by the throat, that latterly after the three sad, 
glorious Days of July, Alencon discovered that M. de Valois’ 
winnings at cards amounted to something like a hundred 
and fifty crowns every quarter, which amount the ingenious 
Chevalier intrepidly remitted to himself as an annuity, so 
that he might not appear to be without resources in a country 
with a great turn for practical details. Plenty of his friends 
—he was dead by that time, please to remark—plenty of his 
friends denied this in toto, they maintained that the stories 
were fables and slanders set in circulation by the Liberal 
party and that M. de Valois was an honorable and worthy 
gentleman. Luckily for clever gamblers, there will always 
be champions of this sort for them among the onlookers. 
Feeling ashamed to excuse wrongdoing, they stoutly deny 
that wrong has been done. Do not accuse them of wrong: 
headedness ; they have their own sense of self-respect, and the 
Government sets them an example of the virtue which consists 
in burying its dead by night without chanting a 7’e Deum 
over a defeat. And suppose that M. de Valois permitted him- 
self a neat stratagem that would have won Gramont’s esteem, 
a smile from Baron de Feeneste, and a shake of the hand 
from the Marquis de Moncade, was he any the less the 
pleasant dinner guest, the wit, the unvarying card-player, 
the charming retailer of anecdotes, the delight of Alengon? 
In what, moreover, does the action, lying, as it does, outside 
the laws of right and wrong, offend against the elegant code 
of a man of birth and breeding? When so many people are 


10 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


obliged to give pensions to others, what more natural than 
of one’s own accord to allow an annuity to one’s own best 
friend? But Laius is dead. . . 

After some fifteen years of this aul of life, the Chevalier 
had amassed ten thousand and some odd hundred francs. 
When the Bourbons returned, he said that an old friend of 
his, M. le Marquis de Pombreton, late a lieutenant in the 
Black Musketeers, had returned a loan of twelve hundred 
pistoles with which he emigrated. The incident made a 
sensation. It was quoted afterwards as a set-off against droll 
stories in the Constitutionnel of the ways in which some 
émigrés paid their debts. The poor Chevalier used to blush 
all over the right side of his face whenever this noble trait 
in the Marquis de Pombreton came up in conversation. At 
the time every one rejoiced with M. de Valois; he used to 
consult capitalists as to the best way of investing this wreck 
of his former fortune; and, putting faith in the Restoration, 
invested it all in Government stock when the funds had fallen 
to fifty-six francs twenty-five centimes. MM. de Lenon- 
court, de Navarreins, de Verneuil, de Fontaine, and La Bil- 
lardiére, to whom he was known, had obtained a pension of 
a hundred crowns for him from the privy purse, he said, and 
the Cross of St. Louis. By what means the old Chevalier 
obtained the two solemn confirmations of his title and quality, 
no one ever knew; but this much is certain, the Cross of 
St. Louis gave him brevet rank as a colonel on a retiring pen- 
sion, by reason of his services with the Catholic army in the 
West. 

Besides the fiction of the annuity, to which no one gave 
a thought, the Chevalier was now actually possessed of a 
genuine income of a thousand francs. But with this im- 
provement in his circumstances he made no change in his life 
or manners ; only—the red ribbon looked wondrous well on his 
maroon coat; it was a finishing touch, as it were, to this 
portrait of a gentleman. Ever since the year 1802 the 
Chevalier had sealed his letters with an ancient gold seal, 
engraved roughly enough, but not so badly but that the Cas- 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 11 


térans, d’Esgrignons, and Troisvilles might see that he bore 
the arms of France impaled with his own, to wit, France per 
pale, gules two bars gemelles, a cross of five mascles con- 
joined or, on a chief sable a cross pattee argent over all; 
with a knight’s casquet for crest and the motto—VALgzo. 
With these noble arms the so-called bastard Valois was en- 
titled to ride in all the royal coaches in the world. 

Plenty of people envied the old bachelor his easy life, made 
up of boston, trictrac, reversis, whist, and piquet; of good 
play, dinners well digested, pinches of snuff gracefully taken, 
and quiet walks abroad. Almost all Alencon thought that 
his existence was empty alike of ambitions and cares; but 
where is the man whose life is quite as simple as they sup- 
pose who envy him? 

In the remotest country village you shall find human mol- 
lusks, rotifers inanimate to all appearance, which cherish a 
passion for lepidoptera or conchology, and are at infinite pains 
to acquire some new butterfly, or a specimen of Concha 
Veneris. And the Chevalier had not merely shells and but- 
terflies of his own, he cherished an ambitious desire with a 
pertinacity and profound strategy worthy of a Sixtus V. He 
meant to marry a rich old maid; in all probability because a 
wealthy marriage would be a stepping-stone to the high 
spheres of the Court. This was the secret of his royal bear- 
ing and prolonged abode in Alencon. 

Very early one Tuesday morning in the middle of spring 
in the year 716 (to use his own expression), the Chevalier 
was just slipping on his dressing-gown, an old-fashioned green 
silk damask of a flowered pattern, when, in spite of the cotton 
in his ears, he heard a girl’s light footstep on the stairs. 
In another moment some one tapped discreetly three times 
on the door, and then, without waiting for an answer, a 
very handsome damsel slipped like a snake into the old 
bachelor’s apartment. 

“Ah, Suzanne, is that you?” said the Chevalier de Valois, 
continuing to strop his razor. “What are you here for, dear 
little jewel of mischief?” 


12 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


“T have come to tell you something which perhaps will 
give you as much pleasure as annoyance.” 

“Ts it something about Césarine ?” 

“Much I trouble myself about your Césarine,” pouted she, 
half careless, half in earnest. 

The charming Suzanne, whose escapade was to exercise 
so great an influence on the lives of all the principal charac- 
tersin this story, was one of Mme. Lardot’s laundry girls. And 
now for a few topographical details. 

The whole ground floor of the house was given up to the 
laundry. The little yard was a drying-ground where em- 
broidered handkerchiefs, collarettes, muslin slips, cuffs, frilled 
shirts, cravats, laces, embroidered petticoats, all the fine wash- 
ing of the best houses in the town, in short, hung out along 
the lines of hair rope. The Chevalier used to say that he was 
kept informed of the progress of the receiver-general’s wife’s 
flirtations by the number of slips thus brought to light; and 
the amount of frilled shirts and cambric cravats varied 
directly with the petticoats and collarettes. By this system 
of double entry, as it were, he detected all the assignations 
in the town; but the Chevalier was always discreet, he never 
let fall an epigram that might have closed a house to him. 
And yet he was a witty talker! For which reason you may be 
sure that M. de Valois’ manners were of the finest, while 
his talents, as so often happens, were thrown away upon a 
narrow circle. Still, for he was only human after all, he 
sometimes could not resist the pleasure of a searching side 
glance which made women tremble, and nevertheless they 
liked him when they found out how profoundly discreet he 
was, how full of sympathy for their pretty frailties. 

Mme. Lardot’s forewoman and factotum, an alarmingly 
ugly spinster of five-and-forty, occupied the rest of the second 
floor with the Chevalier. Her door on the landing was 
exactly opposite his; and her apartment, like his own, con- 
sisted of two rooms, looking respectively upon the street and 
the yard. Above, there was nothing but the attics where 
the linen was dried in winter. Below lodged Mme. Lardot’s 


THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 13 


grandfather. The old man, Grévin by name, had been a 
privateer in his time, and had served under Admiral Simeuse 
in the Indies; now he was paralyzed and stone deaf. Mme. 
Lardot herself occupied the rooms beneath her forewoman, 
and so great was her weakness for people of condition, that 
she might be said to be blind where the Chevalier was con- 
cerned. In her eyes, M. de Valois was an absolute monarch, a 
king that could do no wrong ;even if one of her own work-girls 
had been said to be guilty of finding favor in his sight, she 
would have said, “He is so amiable!” 

And so, if M. de Valois, like most people in the provinces, 
lived in a glass house, it was secret as a robber’s cave so far as 
he at least was concerned. A born confidant of the little 
intrigues of the laundry, he never passed the door—which al- 
most always stood ajar—without bringing something for his 
pets—chocolate, bonbons, ribbons, laces, a gilt cross, and the 
jokes that grisettes love. Wherefore the little girls adored the 
Chevalier. . Women can tell by instinct whether a man is 
attracted to anything that wears a petticoat; they know at 
once the kind of man who enjoys the mere sense of their 
presence, who never thinks of making blundering demands 
of repayment for his gallantry. In this respect womankind 
has a canine faculty; a dog in any company goes straight 
to the man who respects animals. The Chevalier de Valois in 
his poverty preserved something of his former life; he was 
- as unable to live without some fair one under his protection 
as any grand seigneur of a bygone age. He clung to the 
traditions of the petite maison. He loved to give to women, 
and women alone can receive gracefully, perhaps because it is 
always in their power to repay. 

In these days, when every lad on leaving school tries his 
hand at unearthing symbols or sifting legends, is it not ex- 
traordinary that no one has explained that portent, the 
Courtesan of the Eighteenth Century? What was she but the 
tournament of the Sixteenth in another shape? In 1550 the 
knights displayed their prowess for their ladies; in 1750 they 
displayed their mistresses at Longchamps; to-day they run 


14 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


their horses over the course. The noble of every age has 
done his best to invent a life which he, and he only, can live. 
The painted shoes of the Fourteenth Century are the talons 
rouges of the Highteenth; the parade of a mistress was one 
fashion in ostentation; the sentiment of chivalry and the 
knight errant was another. 

The Chevalier de Valois could no longer ruin himself for 
a mistress, so for bonbons wrapped in bank-bills he politely 
offered a bag of genuine cracknels; and to the credit of Alen- 
con, be it said, the cracknels caused far more pleasure to the 
recipients than M. d’Artois’ presents of carriages or silver- 
gilt toilet sets ever gave to the fair Duthé. There was not a 
girl in the laundry but recognized the Chevalier’s fallen great- 
ness, and kept his familiarities in the house a profound 
secret. 

In answer to questions, they always spoke gravely of the 
Chevalier de Valois; they watched over him. Jor others he 
became a venerable gentleman, his life was a flower of 
sanctity. But at home they would have lighted on his 
shoulders like paroquets. 

The Chevalier liked to know the intimate aspects of family 
life which laundresses learn; they used to go up to his room 
of a morning to retail the gossip of the town; he called them 
his “gazettes in petticoats,” his “living feuilletons.” M. 
Sartine himself had not such intelligent spies at so cheap a 
rate, nor yet so loyal in their rascality. Remark, moreover, 
that the Chevalier thoroughly enjoyed his breakfasts. 

Suzanne was one of his favorites. A clever and ambitious 
girl with the stuff of a Sophie Arnould in her, she was be- 
sides as beautiful as the loveliest courtesan that Titian ever 
prayed to pose against a background of dark velvet as a model 
for his Venus. Her forehead and all the upper part of her 
face about the eyes were delicately moulded; but the contours 
of the lower half were cast in a commoner mould. Hers 
was the beauty of a Normande, fresh, plump, and brilliant- 
complexioned, with that Rubens fleshiness which should be 
combined with the muscular development of a Farnese Her- 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 15 


cules: ‘This was no Venus de’ Medici, the graceful feminine 
counterpart of Apollo. 

“Well, child,” said the Chevalier, “tell me your adventures 
little or big.” 

The Chevalier’s fatherly benignity with these grisettes 
would have marked him out anywhere between Paris and 
Pekin. The girls put him in mind of the courtesans of an- 
other age, of the illustrious queens of opera of European 
fame during a good third of the eighteenth century. Certain 
it is that he who had lived for so long in a world of women 
now as dead and forgotten as the Jesuits, the buccaneers, the 
abbés, and the farmers-general, and all great things generally 
—certain it is that the Chevalier had acquired an irresistible 
good humor, a gracious ease, an unconcern, with no trace of 
egoism discernible in it. So might Jupiter have appeared 
to Alemena—a king that chooses to be a woman’s dupe, and. 
flings majesty and its thunderbolts to the winds, that he may 
squander Olympus in follies, and “little suppers,’ and 
feminine extravagance; wishful, of all things, to be far 
enough away from Juno. 

The room in which the Chevalier received company was 
bare enough, with its shabby bit of tapestry to do duty as a 
carpet, and very dirty, old-fashioned easy-chairs; the walls 
were covered with a cheap paper,on which the countenances of 
Louis X VI. and his family, framed in weeping willow, appear- 
ed at intervals among funeral urns, bearing the sublime testa- 
ment by way of inscription, amid a whole host of sentimental 
emblems invented by Royalism under the Terror; but in spite 
of all this, in spite of the old flowered green silk dressing- 
gown, in spite of its owner’s air of dilapidation, a certain 
fragrance of the eighteenth century clung about the Chevalier 
de Valois as he shaved himself before the old-fashioned toilet 
glass, covered with cheap lace. All the graceless graces of his 
youth seemed to reappear; he might have had three hundred 
thousand francs’ worth of debts to his name, and a chariot at 
his door. He looked a great man, great as Berthier in the 
Retreat from Moscow issuing the order of the day to bat- 
talions which were no more, 


16 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


“M. le Chevalier,” Suzanna replied archly, “it seems to me 
that I have nothing to tell you—you have only to look!” 

So saying, she turned and stood sidewise to prove her words 
by ocular demonstrations ; and the Chevalier, deep old gentle- 
man, still holding his razor across his chin, cast his right eye 
downwards upon the damsel, and pretended to understand. 

“Very good, my little pet, we will have a little talk to- 
gether presently. But you come first, it seems, to me.” 

“But, M. le Chevalier, am I to wait till my mother beats 
me and Mme. Lardot turns me away? If Ido not go to Paris 
at once, I shall never get married here, where the men are so 
ridiculous.” 

“These things cannot be helped, child! Society changes, 
and women suffer just as much as the nobles from the shock- 
ing confusion which ensues. Topsy-turvydom in politics 
ends in topsy-turvy manners. Alas! woman soon will cease 
to be woman” (here he took the cotton wool out of his ears to 
continue his toilet). “Women will lose a great deal by 
plunging into sentiment; they will torture their nerves, and 
there will be an end of the good old ways of our time, when a 
little pleasure was desired without blushes, and accepted 
without more ado, and the vapors” (he polished the earrings 
with the negroes’ heads)—“‘the vapors were only known as 
a means of getting one’s way; before long they will take the 
proportions of a complaint only to be cured by an infusion 
of orange-blossoms.” (The Chevalier burst out laughing.) 
“Marriage, in short,” he resumed, taking a pair of tweezers to 
pluck out a gray hair, “marriage will come to be a very dull 
institution indeed, and it was so joyous in my time. The 
reign of Louis Quatorze and Louis Quinze, bear this in mind, 
my child, saw the last of the finest manners in the 
world.” 

“But, M. le Chevalier,” urged the girl, “it is your little 
Suzanne’s character and reputation that is at stake, and you 
are not going to forsake her, I hope!” 

“What is all this?” cried the Chevalier, with a finishing 
touch to his hair; “I would sooner lose my name!” 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN PAT 


“Ah!” said Suzanne. 

“Listen to me, little masquerader.” He sat down in a large, 
low chair, a duchess, as it used to be called, which Mme. Lar- 
dot had picked up somewhere for her lodger. Then he drew 
the magnificent Suzanne to him till she stood between his 
knees ; and Suzanne submitted—Suzanne who held her head 
so high in the streets, and had refused a score of overtures 
from admirers in Alencon, not so much from self-respect as 
in disdain of their pettiness. Suzanne so brazenly made the 
most of the supposed consequences of her errors, that the old 
sinner, who had fathomed so many mysteries in persons far 
more astute than Suzanne, saw the real state of affairs at 
once. He knew well enough that a grisette does not laugh 
when disgrace is really in question, but he scorned to throw 
down the scaffolding of an engaging fib with a touch. 

“We are slandering ourselves,” said he, and there was an 
inimitable subtlety in his smile. “We are as well conducted 
as the fair one whose name we bear; we can marry without 
fear. But we do not want to vegetate here; we long for 
Paris, where charming creatures can be rich if they are clever, 
and we are not a fool. So we should like to find out whether 
the City of Pleasure has young Chevaliers de Valois in store 
for us, and a carriage and diamonds and an opera box. There 
are Russians and English and Austrians that are bringing 
millions to spend in Paris, and some of that money mamma 
settled on us as a marriage portion when she gave us our 
good looks. And besides, we are patriotic; we should like to 
help France to find her own money in these gentlemen’s 
pockets. Eh! eh! my dear little devil’s lamb, all this is not 
bad. The neighbors will cry out upon you a little at first 
perhaps, but success will make everything right. The real 
crime, my child, is poverty; and you and I both suffer for it. 
As we are not lacking in intelligence, we thought we might 
turn our dear little reputation to account to take in 
an old bachelor, but the old bachelor, sweetheart, knows the 
alpha and omega of woman’s wiles; which is to say, that you 
would find it easier to put a grain of salt upon a sparrow’s 


18 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
tail than to persuade me to believe that I have had any share 
in your affair. 

“Go to Paris, my child, go at the expense of a bachelor’s 
vanity; I am not going to hinder you, I will help you, for 
the old bachelor, Suzanne, is the cash-box provided by nature 
for a young girl. But do not thrust me into the affair. 
Now, listen, my queen, understanding life so well as you do— 
you see, you might do me a good deal of harm and give me 
trouble; harm, because you might spoil my marriage in a 
place where people are so particular; trouble on your account, 
because you will get yourself in a scrape for nothing, a scrape 
entirely of your own invention, sly girl; and you know, my 
pet, that I have no money left, | am as poor as a church 
mouse. Ah! if I were to marry Mlle. Cormon, if I were rich 
again, | would certainly rather have you than Césarine. You 
were always fine gold enough to gild lead, it seemed to me; 
you were made to be a great lord’s love; and as I knew you 
were a clever girl, [ am not at all surprised by this trick of 
yours, I expected as much. Tor a girl, this means that you 
burn your boats. It is no common mind, my angel, that can 
do it; and for that reason you have my esteem,” and he be- 
stowed confirmation upon her cheek after the manner of a 
bishop, with two fingers. 

“But, M. le Chevalier, I do assure you that you are mis- 
taken, and. * she blushed, and dared not finish her sen- 
tence, at a glance he had seen through her, and read her 
plans from beginning to end. 

“Yes, I understand, you wish me to believe you. Very 
well, I believe. But take my advice and go to M. du 
Bousquier. You have taken M. du Bousquier’s linen home 
from the wash for five or six months, have you not ?—Very 
good. I do not ask to know what has happened between 
you; but I know him, he is vain, he is an old bachelor, he is 
very rich, he has an income of two thousand five hundred 
livres, and spends less than eight hundred. If you are the 
clever girl that I take you for, you will find your way to Paris 
at his expense. Go to him, my pet, twist him round your 





THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 19 


fingers, and of all things, be supple as silk, and make a 
double twist and a knot at every word; he is just the man 
to be afraid of a scandal; and if he knows that you can make 
him sit on the stool of repentance In short, you under- 
stand, threaten to apply to the ladies of the charitable fund. 
He is ambitious besides. Well and good, with a wife to help 
him there should be nothing beyond a man’s reach; and are 
you not handsome enough and clever enough to make your 
husband’s fortune? Why, plague take it, you might hold 
your own with a court lady.” 

The Chevalier’s last words let the light into Suzanne’s 
brain; she was burning with impatience to rush off to du 
Bousquier ; but as she could not hurry away too abruptly, she 
helped the Chevalier to dress, asking questions about Paris as 
she did so. As for the Chevalier, he saw that his remarks 
had taken effect, and gave Suzanne an excuse to go, asking 
her to tell Césarine to bring up the chocolate that Mme. Lar- 
dot made for him every morning, and Suzanne forthwith 
slipped off in search of her prey. 

And here follows du Bousquier’s biography.—He came of 
an old Alencon family in a middle rank between the burghers 
and the country squires. On the death of his father, a 
magistrate in the criminal court, he was left without resource, 
and, like most ruined provincials, betook himself to Paris to 
seek his fortune. When the Revolution broke out, du 
Bousquier was a man of affairs; and in those days (in spite 
of the Republicans, who are all up in arms for the honesty 
of their government, the word “affairs” was used very loosely. 
Political spies, jobbers, and contractors, the men who ar- 
ranged with the syndics of communes for the sale of the 
property of émigrés, and then bought up land at low prices 
to sell again,—all these folk, like ministers and generals, 
were men of affairs. 

From 1793 to 1799 du Bousquier held contracts to supply 
the army with forage and provisions. During those years he 
lived in a splendid mansion; he was one of the great 
capitalists of the time; he went shares with Ouvrard; kept 





20 THE JEALOUSINS OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


open house and led the scandalous life of the times. A 
Cincinnatus, reaping where he had not sowed, and rich with 
stolen rations and sacks of corn, he kept petites maisons and 
a bevy of mistresses, and gave fine entertainments to the 
directors of the Republic. Citizen du Bousquier was one of 
Barras’ intimates; he was on the best of terms with Fouché, 
and hand and glove with Bernadotte. He thought to be a 
Minister of State one day, and threw himself heart and soul 
into the party that secretly plotted against Bonaparte before 
the battle of Marengo. And but for Kellermann’s charge 
and the death of Desaix, du Bousquier would have played a 
great part in the state. He was one of the upper members 
of the permanent staff of the promiscuous government which 
was driven by Napoleon’s luck to vanish into the side-scenes 
OL TO5* 

The victory unexpectedly won by stubborn fighting ended 
in the downfall of this party; they had placards ready 
printed, and were only waiting for the First Consul’s defeat 
to proclaim a return to the principles of the Mountain. 

Du Bousquier, feeling convinced that a victory was im- 
possible, had two special messengers on the battlefield, and 
speculated with the larger part of his fortune for a fall in 
the funds. The first courier came with the news that Mélas 
was victorious ; but the second arriving four hours afterwards, 
at night, brought the tidings of the Austrian defeat. Du 
Bousquier cursed Kellermann and Desaix; the First Consul 
owed him millions, he dared not curse him. But between the 
chance of making millions on the one hand, and stark ruin 
on the other, he lost his head. For several days he was half 
idiotic; he had undermined his constitution with excesses 
to such an extent that the thunderbolt left him helpless. 
He had something to hope from the settlement of his claims 
upon the Government; but in spite of bribes, he was made to 
feel the weight of Napoleon’s displeasure against army con- 
tractors who speculated on his defeat. M. de Fermon, so 
pleasantly nicknamed “Hermons la caisse,” left du Bousquier 


* See Une Ténébreuse Affaire. 


THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 21 


without a penny. The First Consul was even more incensed 
by the immorality of his private life and his connection with 
Barras and Bernadotte than by his speculations on the 
Bourse; he erased M. du Bousquier’s name from the lst of 
Receivers-general, on which a last remnant of credit had 
placed him for Alencon. 

Of all his former wealth, nothing now remained to du 
Bousquier save an income of twelve hundred francs from the 
funds, an investment entirely due to chance, which saved him 
from actual want. His creditors, knowing nothing of the re- 
sults of his liquidation, only left him enough in consols to 
bring in a thousand francs per annum; but their claims were 
paid in full after all, when the outstanding debts had been col- 
lected, and the Hétel de Beauséant, du Bousquier’s town 
house, sold besides. So, after a close shave of bankruptcy, the 
sometime speculator emerged with his name intact. Preceded 
by a tremendous reputation due to his relations with former 
heads of government departments, his manner of life, his brief 
day of authority, and final ruin through the First Consul, the 
man interested the city of Alencon, where Royalism was 
secretly predominant. Du Bousquier, exasperated against 
Bonaparte, with his tales of the First Consul’s pettiness, of 
Josephine’s lax morals, and a whole store of anecdotes of ten 


i years of Revolution, seen from within, met with a good re- 


ception. 

- It was about this period of his life that du Bousquier, now 
well over his fortieth year, came out as a bachelor of thirty- 
six. He was of medium height, fat as became a contractor, 
and willing to display a pair of calves that would have done 
eredit to a gay and gallant attorney. He had strongly 
marked features; a flattened nose with tufts of hair in the 
equine nostrils, bushy black brows, and eyes beneath them 
that looked out shrewd as M. de Talleyrand’s own, though 
they had lost something of their brightness. He wore his 
brown hair very long, and retained the side-whiskers 
(nageoires, as they were called) of the time of the Republic. 
You had only te look at his fingers, tufted at every joint, or at 


22 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


the blue knotted veins that stood out upon his hands, to see 
the unmistakable signs of a very remarkable muscular de- 
velopment; and, in truth, he had the chest of the Farnese 
Hercules, and shoulders fit to bear the burden of the national 
debt; you never see such shoulders nowadays. His was a 
luxuriant virility admirably described by an eighteenth cen- 
tury phrase which is scarcely intelligible to-day; the gal- 
lantry of a bygone age would have summed up du Bousquier 
as a “payer of arrears”’—un vrai payeur darrérages. 

Yet, as in the case of the Chevalier de Valois, there were 
sundry indications at variance with the ex-contractor’s general 
appearance. His vocal powers, for instance, were not in 
keeping with his muscles; not that it was the mere thread of 
a voice which sometimes issues from the throats of such two- 
footed seals; on the contrary, it was loud but husky, some- 
thing lke the sound of a saw cutting through damp, soft 
wood; it was, in fact, the voice of a speculator brought to 
grief. For a long while du Bousquier wore the costume in 
vogue in the days of his glory: the boots with turned-down 
tops, the while silk stockings, the short cloth breeches, ribbed 
with cinnamon color, the blue coat, the waistcoat a la 
Robespierre. 

His hatred of the First Consul should have been a sort 
of passport into the best Royalist houses of Alencon; but the 
seven or eight families that made up the local Faubourg 
Saint-Germain into which the Chevalier de Valois had the 
entrance, held aloof. Almost from the first, du Bousquier 
had aspired to marry one Mlle. Armande, whose brother was 
one of the most esteemed nobles of the town; he thought to 
make this brother play a great part in his own schemes, 
for he was dreaming of a brilliant return match in politics. 
He met with a refusal, for which he consoled himself with 
such compensation as he might find among some half-score of 
retired manufacturers of Point d’Alencgon, owners of grass 
lands or cattle, or wholesale linen merchants, thinking 
that among these chance might put a good match in his way. 
Indeed, the old bachelor had centered all his hopes on a pros- 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 23 


pective fortunate marriage, which a man, eligible in sc many 
ways, might fairly expect to make. For he was not without 
a certain financial acumen, of which not a few availed them- 
selves. He pointed out business speculations as a ruined 
gambler gives hints to new hands; and he was expert at dis- 
covering the resources, chances, and management of a con- 
cern. People looked upon him as a good administrator. It 
was an often-discussed question whether he should not be 
mayor of Alencon, but the recollection of his Republican 
jobberies spoiled his chances, and he was never received at 
the prefecture. 

Every successive government, even the government of the 
Hundred Days, declined to give him the coveted appoint- 
ment, which would have assured his marriage with an elderly 
spinster whom he now had in his mind. It was his detestation 
of the Imperial Government that drove him into the Royalist 
camp, where he stayed in spite of insults there received; but 
when the Bourbons returned, and still he was excluded from 
the prefecture, that final rebuff filled him with a hatred deep 
as the profound secrecy in which he wrapped it. Outwardly, 
he remained patiently faithful to his opinions; secretly, he 
became the leader of the Liberal party in Alencon, the in- 
visible controller of elections; and, by his cunningly devised 
manceuvres and underhand methods, he worked no little harm 
to the restored Monarchy. 

When a man is reduced to live through his intellect alone, 
his hatred is something as quiet as a little stream; in- 
significant to all appearance, but unfailing. This was the 
case with du Bousquier. His hatred was like a negro’s, so 
placid, so patient, that it deceives the enemy. For fifteen 
years he brooded over a revenge which no victory, not even the 
Three Days of July 1830, could sate. 

When the Chevalier sent Suzanne to du Bousquier, he had 
his own reasons for so doing. The Liberal and the Royalist 
divined each other, in, spite of the skilful dissimulation which 
hid their common aim from the rest of the town. 

The two old bachelors were rivals. Both of them had 


24 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


planned to marry the Demoiselle Cormon, whose name came 
up in the course of the Chevalier’s conversation with Suzanne. 
Both of them, engrossed by their idea, and masquerading in 
indifference, were waiting for the moment when some chance 
should deliver the old maid to one or other of them. 
And the fact that they were rivals in this way would have 
been enough to make enemies of the pair even if each had not 
been the living embodiment of a political system. 

Men take their color from their time. This pair of rivals 
is a case in point; the historic tinge of their characters stood 
out in strong contrast in their talk, their ideas, their costume. 
The one, blunt and energetic, with his burly abrupt ways, curt 
speech, dark looks, dark hair, and dark complexion, alarming 
in appearance, but impotent in reality as insurrection, was 
the Republic personified; the other, bland and ‘polished, 
elegant and fastidious, gaining his ends slowly but surely by 
diplomacy, and never unmindful of geod taste, was the typical 
old-world courtier. They met on the same ground almost 
every evening. It was a rivalry always courteous and urbane 
on the part of the Chevalier, less ceremonious on du Bous- 
quier’s, though he kept within the limits prescribed by Alen- 
con, for he had no wish to be driven ignominiously from the 
field. The two men understood each other well; but no one else 
saw what was going on. In spite of the minute and curious 
interest which provincials take in the small details of which 
their lives are made up, no one so much as suspected that the 
two men were rivals. 

M. le Chevalier’s position was somewhat the stronger; he 
had never proposed for Mlle. Cormon, whereas du Bousquier 
had declared himself after a rebuff from one of the noblest 
families, and had met with a second refusal. Still, the 
Chevalier thought so well of his rival’s chances, that he con- 
sidered it worth while to deal him a coup de Jarnac, a 
treacherous thrust from a weapon as finely tempered as 
Suzanne. He had fathomed du Bousquier; and, as will 
shortly be seen, he was not mistaken in any of his con- 
jectures. 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 25 


Suzanne tripped away down the Rue du Cours, along the 
Rue de la Porte de Séez and the Rue du Bercail to the Rue 
du Cygne, where du Bousquier, five years ago, had bought a 
small countrified house built of the gray stone of the dis- 
trict, which is used like granite in Normandy, or Breton schist 
in the West. The sometime forage-contractor had established 
himself there in more comfort than any other house in the 
town could boast, for he had brought with him some relics 
of past days of splendor; but provincial manners and customs 
were slowly darkening the glory of the fallen Sardanapalus. 
‘The vestiges of past luxury looked about as much out of place 
in the house as a chandelier in a barn. Harmony, which 
links the works of man or of God together, was lacking in all 
things large or small. A ewer with a metal lid, such as you 
only see on the outskirts of Brittany, stood on a handsome 
chest of drawers; and while the bedroom floor was covered 
with a fine carpet, the window-curtains displayed a flower 
pattern only known to cheap printed cottons. The stone 
mantelpiece, daubed over with paint, was out of all keeping 
with a handsome clock disgraced by a shabby pair of candle- 
sticks. Local talent had made an unsuccessful attempt to 
paint the doors in vivid contrasts of startling colors; while 
the staircase, ascended by all and sundry in muddy boots, had 
not been painted at all. In short, du Bousquier’s house, 
like the time which he represented, was a confused mixture of 
grandeur and squalor. 

Du Bousquier was regarded as well-to-do, but he led the 
parasitical life of the Chevalier de Valois, and he is always 
rich enough that spends less than his income. His one serv- 
ant was a country bumpkin, a dull-witted youth enough; but 
he had been trained, by slow degrees, to suit du Bousquier’s 
requirements, until he had learned, much as an ourang-outang 
might learn, to scour floors, black boots, brush clothes, and to 
come for his master of anevening with a lantern if it was dark, 
and a pair of sabots if it rained. On great occasions, du 
Bousquier made him discard the blue-checked cotton blouse 
with loose sagging pockets behind, which always bulged with 


26 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


a handkerchief, a clasp knife, apples, or “stickjaw.” Ar- 
rayed in a regulation suit of clothes, he accompanied his 
master to wait at table, and over-ate himself afterwards with 
the other servants. Like many other mortals, René had only 
stuff enough in him for one vice, and his was gluttony. Du 
Bousquier made a reward of this service, and in return his 
Breton factotum was absolutely discreet. 

“What, have you come our way, miss?” René asked when 
he saw Suzanne in the doorway. “It is not your day; we have 
not got any linen for Mme. Lardot.” 

“Big stupid!’ laughed the fair Suzanne, as she went up 
the stairs, leaving René to finish a porringer full of buck- 
wheat bannocks boiled in milk. 

Du Bousquier was still in bed, ruminating his plans for 
fortune. To him, as to all who have squeezed the orange of 
pleasure, there was nothing left but ambition. Ambition, 
like gambling, is inexhaustible. And, moreover, given a good 
constitution, the passions of the brain will always outlive 
the heart’s passions. 

“Here I am!” said Suzanne, sitting down on the bed; the 
curtain-rings grated along the rods as she swept them sharply 
back with an imperious gesture. 

“Quésaco, my charmer?” asked du Bousquier, sitting up- 
right. 

“Monsieur,” Suzanne began, with much gravity, “you must 
be surprised to see me come in this way; but, under the cir- 
cumstances, it is no use my minding what people will say.” 

“What is all this about?” asked du Bousquier, folding his 
arms. 

“Why, do you not understand?” returned Suzanne. “I 
know” (with an engaging little pout), “I know how ridiculous 
it is when a poor girl comes to bother a man about things that 
you think mere trifles. But if you really knew me, monsieur, 
if you only knew all that I would do for a man, if he cared 
about me as I could care about you, you would never repent 
of marrying me. It is not that I could be of so much use to 
you here, by the way; but if we went to Paris, you should see 


THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 27 


how far I could bring a man of spirit with such brains as 
yours, and especially just now, when they are re-making the 
Government from top to bottom, and the foreigners are the 
masters. Between ourselves, does this thing in question really 
matter after all? Is it not a piece of good fortune for which 
you would be glad to pay a good deal one of these days? 
For whom are you going to think and work?” 

“For myself, to be sure!” du Bousquier answered brutally. 

“Old monster! you shall never be a father!” said Suzanne, 
with a ring in her voice which turned the words to a prophecy 
and a curse. 

“Come, Suzanne, no nonsense; I am dreaming still, I 
think.” 

“What more do you want in the way of reality?” cried 
Suzanne, rising to her feet. Du Bousquier scrubbed his head 
with his cotton nightcap, which he twisted round and round 
with a fidgety energy that told plainly of prodigious mental 
ferment. 

“He actually believes it!” Suzanne said within herself. 
“And his vanity is tickled. Good Lord, how easy it is to take 
them in!” 

“Suzanne! What the deuce do you want me to do? It 
is so extraordinary . . . I that thought The fact 
is. . . . But no, no, it can’t be——” 

“Do you mean that you cannot marry me?” 

“Oh, as to that, no. I am not free.” 

“Ts it Mlle. Armande or Mlle. Cormon, who have both 
refused you already? Look here, M. du Bousquier, it is not 
as if I was obliged to get gendarmes to drag you to the 
registrar’s office to save my character. There are plenty that 
would marry me, but I have no intention whatever of taking 
a man that does not know my value. You may be sorry some 
of these days that you behaved like this; for if you will not 
take your chance to-day, not for gold, nor silver, nor any- 
thing in this world will I give it you again.” 

“But, Suzanne—are you sure—— ?” 

“Sir, for what do you take me?” asked the girl, draping 





28 THE JHALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


herself in her virtue. “I am not going to put you in mind of 
the promises you made, promises that have been the ruin of a 
poor girl, when all her fault was that she looked too high 
and loved too much.” 

But joy, suspicion, self-interest, and a host of contending 
emotions had taken possession of du Bousquier. For a long 
time past he had made up his mind that he would marry Mlle. 
Cormon; for after long ruminations over the Charter, he 
saw that it opened up magnificent prospects to his ambition 
through the channels of a representative government. His 
marriage with that mature spinster would raise his social 
position very much; he would acquire great influence in 
Alencon. And here this wily Suzanne had conjured up a 
storm, which put him in a most awkward dilemma. But for 
that private hope of his, he would have married Suzanne out 
of hand, and put himself openly at the head of the Liberal 
party in the town. Such a marriage meant the final re- 
nunciation of the best society, and a drop into the ranks of the 
wealthy tradesmen, shopkeepers, rich manufacturers, and 
graziers who, beyond a doubt, would carry him as their can- 
didate in triumph. Already du Bousquier caught a glimpse 
of the Opposition benches. He did not attempt to hide his 
solemn deliberations ; he rubbed his hand over his head, made 
a wisp of the cotton nightcap, and a damaging confession of 
the nudity beneath it. As for Suzanne, after the wont of 
those who succeed beyond their utmost hopes, she sat dum- 
founded. To hide her amazement at his behavior, she drooped 
like a hapless victim before her seducer, while within herself 
she laughed like a grisette on a frolic. 

“My dear child, I will have nothing to do with hanky- 
panky of this sort.” 

This brief formula was the result of his cogitations. The 
ex-contractor to the Government prided himself upon belong- 
ing to that particular school of cynic philosophers which 
declines to be “taken in” by women, and includes the whole 
sex in one category as suspicious characters. Strong-minded 
men of this stamp, weaklings are they for the most part, have 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 29 


a catechism of their own in the matter of womankind. Every 
woman, according to them, from the Queen of France to the 
milliner, is at heart a rake, a hussy, a dangerous creature, not 
to say a bit of a rascal, a liar in grain, a being incapable of a 
serious thought. For du Bousquier and his like, woman is a 
maleficent bayadére that must be left to dance, and sing, and 
laugh. ‘They see nothing holy, nothing great in woman; for 
them she represents, not the poetry of the senses, but gross 
sensuality. They are like gluttons who should mistake the 
kitchen for the dining-room. On this showing, a man must 
be a consistent tyrant, unless he means to be enslaved. And 
in this respect, again, du Bousquier and the Chevalier de 
Valois stood at opposite poles. 

As he delivered himself of the above remark, he flung his 
nightcap to the foot of the bed, much as Gregory the Great 
might have flung down the candle while he launched the 
thunders of an excommunication; and Suzanne learned that 
the old bachelor wore a false front. 

“Bear in mind, M. du Bousquier, that by coming here I 
have done my duty,” she remarked majestically. “Remember 
that I was bound to offer you my hand and to ask for yours; | 
but, at the same time, remember that I have behaved with the 
dignity of a self-respecting woman; I did not lower myself so 
far as to cry like a fool; I did not insist; I have not worried 
you at all. Now you know my position. You know that I 
- cannot stay in Alencon. If I do, my mother will beat me; 
and Mme. Lardot is as high and mighty over principles as 
if she washed and ironed with them. She will turn me away. 
And where am I to go, poor work-girl that I am? To the 
hospital? Am I to beg for bread? NotI. I would sooner 
fling myself into the Brillante or the Sarthe. Now, would it 
not be simpler for me to go to Paris? Mother might find 
some excuse for sending me, an uncle wants me to come, or 
an aunt is going to die, or some lady takes an interest in me. 
It is just a question of money for the traveling expenses and 
—you know what fe 

This news was immeasurably more important to du Bous- 





30 THH JEALOUSINS OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


quier than to the Chevalier de Valois, for reasons which no 
one knew as yet but the two rivals, though they will appear in 
the course of the story. At this point, suffice it to say that 
Suzanne’s fib had thrown the sometime forage-contractor’s 
ideas into such confusion that he was incapable of thinking 
seriously. But for that bewilderment, but for the secret joy 
in his heart (for a man’s own vanity is a swindler that never 
lacks a dupe), it must have struck him that any honest girl, 
with a heart still unspoiled, would have died a hundred deaths 
rather than enter upon such a discussion, or make a demand 
for money. He must have seen the look in the girl’s eyes, 
seen the gambler’s ruthless meanness that would take a life to 
gain money for a stake. 

“Would you really go to Paris?” he asked. 

The words brought a twinkle to Suzanne’s gray eyes, but it 
was lost upon du Bousquier’s self-satisfaction. 

“T would indeed, sir.” 

But at this du Bousquier broke out into a singular lament. 
He had just paid the balance of the purchase-money for his 
house; and there was the painter, and the glazier, and the 
bricklayer, and the carpenter. Suzanne let him talk; she 
was waiting for the figures. Du Bousquier at last proposed 
three hundred francs, and at this Suzanne got up as if to 
go. 
“Eh, what! Where are you going?” du Bousquier cried 
uneasily.—“A fine thing to be a bachelor,” he said to himself. 
“T’ll be hanged if I remember doing more than rumple the 
girl’s collar; and hey presto! on the strength of a joke she 
takes upon herself to draw a bill upon you, point-blank !” 

Suzanne meanwhile began to cry. “Monsieur,” she said, 
“T am going to Mme. Granson, the treasurer of the Maternity 
Fund; she pulled one poor girl in the same straits out of 
the water (as you may say) to my knowledge.” 

“Mme. Granson ?” 

“Yes. She is related to Mlle. Cormon, the lady patroness 
of the society. Asking your pardon, some ladies in the town 
have started a society that will keep many a poor creature 


THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 31 


from making away with her child, like that pretty Faustine 
of Argentan did; and paid for it with her life at Mortagne 
just three years ago.” 

“Here, Suzanne,” returned du Bousquier, holding out a 
key, “open the desk yourself. There is a bag that has been 
opened, with six hundred francs still left in it. It is all I 
have.” 

Du Bousquier’s chopfallen expression plainly showed how 
little goodwill went with his compliance. 

“An old thief!” said Suzanne to herself. “I will tell 
tales about his false hair!’ Mentally she compared him with 
that delightful old Chevalier de Valois; he had given her 
nothing, but he understood her, he had advised her, he had 
the welfare of his grisettes at heart. 

“If you are deceiving me, Suzanne,” exclaimed the object 
of this unflattering comparison, as he watched her hand in 
the drawer, “you shall ‘ 

“So, monsieur, you would not give me the money if I 
asked you for it?” interrupted she with queenly insolence. 

Once recalled to the ground of gallantry, recollections of 
his prime came back to the ex-contractor. He grunted as- 
sent. Suzanne took the bag and departed, first submitting 
her forehead to a kiss which he gave, but in a manner which 
seemed to say, “This is an expensive privilege; but it is 
better than being brow-beaten by counsel in a court of law 
as the seducer of a young woman accused of child murder.” 

Suzanne slipped the bag into a pouch-shaped basket on her 
arm, execrating du Bousquier’s stinginess as she did so, for 
she wanted a thousand francs. If a girl is once possessed 
by a desire, and has taken the first step in trickery ana deceit, 
she will go to great lengths. As the fair clear-starcher took 
her way along the Rue du Bercail, it suddenly occurred to 
her that the Maternity Fund under Mlle. Cormon’s presidency 
would probably make up the sum which she regarded as 
sufficient for a start, a very large amount in the eyes of an 
Alencon grisette. And besides, she hated du Bousquier, and 
du Bousquier seemed frightened when she talked of confess- 





| 


32 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


ing her so-called strait to Mme. Granson. Wherefore 
Suzanne determined that whether or no she made a farthing 
out of the Maternity Fund, she would entangle du Bousquier 
in the inextricable undergrowth of the gossip of a country 
town. There is something of a monkey’s love of mischief in 
every grisette. Suzanne composed her countenance dolorously 
and betook herself accordingly to Mme. Granson. 

Mme. Granson was the widow of a leutenant-colonel of 
artillery who fell at Jena. Her whole yearly income con- 
sisted of a pension of nine hundred francs for her lifetime, 
and her one possession besides was a son whose education and 
maintenance had absorbed every penny of her savings. She 
lived in the Rue du Bercail, in one of the cheerless ground- 
floor apartments through which you can see from back to 
front at a glance as you walk down the main street of any little 
town. ‘Three steps, rising pyramid fashion, brought you to 
the level of the house door, which opened upon a passage-way 
and a little yard beyond, with a wooden-roofed staircase at 
the further end. Mme. Granson’s kitchen and dining-room 
occupied the space on one side of the passage, on the other 
side a single room did duty for a variety of purposes, for 
the widow’s bedroom among others. Her son, a young man 
of three-and-twenty, slept upstairs in an attic above the first 
floor. Athanase Granson contributed six hundred francs to 
the poor mother’s housekeeping. He was distantly related 
to Mlle. Cormon, whose influence had obtained him a little 
post in the registrar’s office, where he was employed in making 
out certificates of births, marriages, and deaths. 

After this, any one can see the little chilly yellow-curtained 
parlor, the furniture covered with yellow Utrecht velvet, and 
Mme. Granson going round the room, after her visitors had 
left, to straighten the little straw mats put down in front of 
each chair, so as to save the waxed and polished red brick 
floor from contact with dirty boots; and, this being accom- 
plished, returning to her place beside her work-table under 
the portrait of her lieutenant-general. The becushioned 
armchair, in which she sat at her sewing, was always drawn 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 33 


up between the two windows, so that she could look up and 
down the Rue du Bercail and see every one that passed. She 
was a good sort of woman, dressed with a homely simplicity 
in keeping with a pale face, beaten thin, as it were, by many 
cares. You felt the stern soberness of poverty in every little 
detail in that house, just as you breathed a moral atmosphere 
of austerity and upright provincial ways. 

Mother and son at this moment were sitting together in the 
dining-room over their breakfast—a cup of coffee, bread and 
butter and radishes. And here, if the reader is to under- 
stand how gladly Mme. Granson heard Suzanne, some ex- 
planation of the secret hopes of the household must be given. 

Athanase Granson was a thin, hollow-cheeked young man of 
medium height, with a white face in which a pair of dark 
eyes, bright with thought, looked like two marks made with 
charcoal. The somewhat worn contours of that face, the 
curving line of the lips, a sharply turned-up chin, a regu- 
larly cut marble forehead, a melancholy expression caused by 
the consciousness of power on the one hand and of poverty 
on the other,—all these signs and characteristics told of im- 
prisoned genius. So much so indeed, that anywhere but at 
Alencon his face would have won help for him from dis- 
tinguished men, or from the women that can discern genius 
mcognito. For if this was not genius, at least it was the out- 
ward form that genius takes; and if the strength of a high 
heart was wanting, it looked out surely from those eyes. And 
yet, while Athanase could find expression for the loftiest feel- 
ing, an outer husk of shyness spoiled everything in him, down 
to the very charm of youth, just as the frost of penury dis- 
heartened every effort. Shut in by the narrow circle of pro- 
vincial life, without approbation, encouragement, or any way 
of escape, the thought within him was dying out before its 
dawn. And Athanase besides had the fierce pride which pov- 
erty intensifies in certain natures, the kind of pride by which 
a man grows great in the stress of battle with men and cir- 
cumstances, while at the outset it only handicaps him. 

Genius manifests itself in two ways—either by taking its 


34 THER JHALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


own as soon as he finds it, like a Napoleon or a Moliére, or 
by patiently revealing itself and waiting for recognition. 
Young Granson belonged to the latter class. He was easily © 
discouraged, ignorant of his value. His turn of mind was 
contemplative, he lived in thought rather than in action, and 
possibly, to those who cannot imagine genius without the 
Frenchman’s spark of enthusiasm, he might have seemed in- 
complete. But Athanase’s power lay in the world of thought. 
He was to pass through successive phases of emotion, hidden 
from ordinary eyes, to one of those sudden resolves which 
bring the chapter to a close and set fools declaring that “the 
man is mad.” The world’s contempt for poverty was 
sapping the life in Athanase. The bow, continually strung 
tighter and tighter, was slackened by the enervating close 
air of a solitude with never a breath of fresh air in it. He 
was giving way under the strain of a cruel and fruit- 
less struggle. Athanase had that in him which might 
have placed his name among the foremost names of France; 
he had known what it was to gaze with glowing eyes over 
Alpine heights and fields of air whither unfettered genius 
soars, and now he was pining to death like some caged and 
starved eagle. 

While he had worked on unnoticed in the town library, he 
buried his dreams of fame in his own soul lest they should in- 
jure his prospects; and he carried besides another secret hid- 
den even more deeply in his heart, the secret love which hol- 
lowed his cheeks and sallowed his forehead. 

Athanase loved his distant cousin, that Mlle. Cormon, for 
whom his unconscious rivals du Bousquier and the Chevalier 
de Valois were lying in ambush. It was a love born of self- 
interest. Mlle. Cormon was supposed to be one of the richest 
people in the town; and he, poor boy, had been drawn to love 
her partly through the desire for material welfare, partly 
through a wish formed times without number to gild his 
mother’s declining years ; and partly also through cravings for 
the physical comfort necessary to men who live an intellectual 
life. in his own eyes, his love was dishonored by its very 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 30 


natural origin; and he was afraid of the ridicule which people 
pour on the love of a young man of three-and-twenty for a wo- 
man of forty. And yet his love was quite sincere. Much that 
happens in the provinces would be improbable upon the face of 
it anywhere else, especially in matters of this kind. | 

But in a country town there are no unforeseen con- 
tingencies ; there is no coming and going, no mystery, no such 
thing as chance. Marriage is a necessity, and no family will ac- 
cept a man of dissolute life. A connection between a young fel- 
low like Athanase and a handsome girl might seem a natural 
thing enough in a great city; in a country town it would be 
enough to ruin a young man’s chances of marriage, especially 
if he were poor; for when the prospective bridegroom is 
wealthy an awkward business of this sort may be smoothed 
over. Between the degradation of certain courses and a 
sincere love, a man that is not heartless can make but one 
choice if he happens to be poor; he will prefer the disad- 
vantages of virtue to the disadvantages of vice. But in a 
country town the number of women with whom a young man 
ean fall in love is strictly limited. A pretty girl with 
a fortune is beyond his reach in a place where every one’s 
income is known to a farthing. A penniless beauty is equally 
out of the question. To take her for a wife would be “to 
marry hunger and thirst,’ as the provincial saying goes. 
Finally, celibacy has its dangers in youth. These reflections 
explain how it has come to pass that marriage is the very 
basis of provincial life. 

Men in whom genius is hot and unquenchable, who are 
forced to take their stand on the independence of poverty, 
ought to leave these cold regions; in the provinces thought 
meets with the persecution of brutal indifference, and no 
woman cares or dares to play the part of a sister of charity 
to the worker, the lover of art or sciences. 

Who can rightly understand Athanase’s love for Mlle. Cor- 
mon? Not the rich, the sultans of society, who can find seragl- 
ios at their pleasure; not respectability, keeping to the track 
beaten hard by prejudice; nor yet those women who shut 


36 THE JHEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


their eyes to the cravings of the artist temperament, and, tak- 
ing it for granted that both sexes are governed by the same 
laws, insist upon a system of reciprocity in their particular 
virtues. The appeal must, perhaps, be made to young men 
who suffer from the repression of young desires just as they 
are putting forth their full strength; to the artist whose 
genius is stilled within him by poverty till it becomes a dis- 
ease ; to power at first unsupported, persecuted, and too often 
unfriended till it emerges at length triumphant from the 
twofold agony of soul and body. 

These will know the throbbing pangs of the cancer which 
was gnawing Athanase. Such as these have raised long, cruel 
debates within themselves, with the so high end in sight and 
no means of attaining to it. They have passed through the 
experience of abortive effort; they have left the spawn of 
genius on the barren sands. They know that the strength of 
desire is as the scope of the imagination; the higher the leap, 
the lower the fall; and how many restraints are broken in such 
falls! These, like Athanase, catch glimpses of a glorious 
future in the distance; all that lies between seems but a 
transparent film of gauze to their piercing sight; but of that 
film which scarcely obscures the vision, society makes a wall 
of brass. Urged on by their vocation, by the artist’s instinct 
within them, they too seek times without number to make a 
stepping-stone of sentiments which society turns in the same 
way to practical ends. What! when marriages in the prov- 
inces are calculated and arranged on every side with a view 
to securing material welfare, shall it be forbidden to a strug- 
gling artist or man of science to keep two ends in view, to 
try to ensure his own subsistence that the thought within him 
may live? 

Athanase Granson, with such ideas as these fermenting in 
his head, thought at first of marriage with Mlle. Cormon as a 
definite solution of the problem of existence. He would be 
free to work for fame, he could make his mother comfortable, 
and he felt sure of himself—he knew that he could be faith- 
ful to Mile. Cormon. But soon his purpose bred a real passion 


THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN BT 


in him. It was an unconscious process. He set himself to 
study Mlle. Cormon; then familiarity exercised its spell, and 
at length Athanase saw nothing but beauties—the defects were 
all forgotten. 

The senses count for so much in the love of a young man of 
three-and-twenty. Through the heat of desire woman is seen 
as through a prism. From this point of view it was a touch 
of genius in Beaumarchais to make the page Cherubino in the 
play strain Marcellina to his heart. If you recollect, more- 
over, that poverty restricted Athanase to a life of great loneli- 
ness, that there was no other woman to look at, that his eyes 
were always fastened upon Mlle. Cormon, and that all the 
light in the picture was concentrated upon her, it seems 
natural, does it not, that he should love her? The feeling 
hidden in the depths of his heart could but grow stronger 
day by day. Desire and pain and hope and meditation, in 
silence and repose, were filling up Athanase’s soul to the brim ; 
every hour added its drop. As his senses came to the aid of 
imagination and widened the inner horizon, Mlle. Cormon 
became more and more awe-inspiring, and he grew more and 
more timid. 

The mother had guessed it all. She was a provincial, and 
she frankly calculated the advantages of the match. Mlle. 
Cormon might think herself very lucky to marry a young 
man of twenty-three with plenty of brains, a likely man to 
do honor to his name and country. Still the obstacles, Atha- 
nase’s poverty and Mlle. Cormon’s age, seemed to her to be in- 
surmountable; there was nothing for it that she could see but 
patience. She had a policy of her own, like du Bousquier and 
the Chevalier de Valois ; she was on the lookout for her oppor- 
tunity, waiting, with wits sharpened by self-interest and a 
mother’s love, for the propitious moment. 

Of the Chevalier de Valois, Mme. Granson had no sus- 
picion whatsoever; du Bousquier she still credited with views 
upon the lady, albeit Mlle. Cormon had once refused him. An 
adroit and secret enemy, Mme. Granson did the ex-contractor 
untold harm to serve the son to whom she had not spoken a 


38 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


word. After this, who does not see the importance of Su- 
zanne’s lie once confided to Mme. Granson? What a weapon . 
put into the hands of the charitable treasurer of the Maternity 
Fund! How demurely she would carry the tale from house 
to house when she asked for subscriptions for the chaste 
Suzanne! 

At this particular moment Athanase was pensively sitting 
with his elbow on the table, balancing a spoon on the edge of 
the empty bowl before him. He looked with unseeing eyes 
round the poor room, over the walls covered with an old- 
fashioned paper only seen in wine-shops, at the window-cur- 
tains with a chessboard pattern of pink-and-white squares, at 
the red-brick floor, the straw-bottomed chairs, the painted 
wooden sideboard, the glass door that opened into the kitchen. 
As he sat facing his mother and with his back to the fire, and 
as the fireplace was almost opposite the door, the first thing 
which caught Suzanne’s eyes was his pale face, with the light 
from the street window falling full upon it, a face framed in 
dark hair, and eyes with the gleam of despair in them, and a 
fever kindled by the morning’s thoughts. 

The grisette surely knows by instinct the pain and sorrow 
of love; at the sight of Athanase, she felt that sudden electric 
thrill which comes we know not whence. We cannot explain 
it; some strong-minded persons deny that it exists, but many 
a woman and many a man has felt that shock of sympathy. 
It is a flash, lighting up the darkness of the future, and at the 
same time a presentiment of the pure joy of love shared by 
two souls, and a certainty that this other too understands. It 
is more like the strong, sure touch of a master hand upon the 
clavier of the senses than anything else. Eyes are riveted by 
an irresistible fascination, hearts are troubled, the music of 
joy rings in the ears and thrills the soul; a voice cries, “It is 
he!” And then—then very likely, reflection throws a douche 
of cold water over all this turbulent emotion, and there is an 
end of it. , 

In a moment, swift as a clap of thunder, a broadside of 
new thoughts poured in upon Suzanne. A lightning flash of 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 39 


love burned the weeds which had sprung up in dissipation 
and wantonness. She saw all that she was losing by blighting 
her name with a lie, the desecration, the degradation of it. 
Only last evening this idea had been a joke, now it was like a 
heavy sentence passed upon her. She recoiled before her suc- 
cess. But, after all, it was quite impossible that anything 
should come of this meeting; and the thought of Athanase’s 
poverty, and a vague hope of making money and coming back 
from Paris with both hands full, to say, “I loved you all along” 
—or fate, if you will have it so—dried up the beneficent dew. 
The ambitious damsel asked shyly to speak for a moment with 
Mme. Granson, who took her into her bedroom. 

When Suzanne came out again she looked once more at 
Athanase. He was still sitting in the same attitude. She 
choked back her tears. 

As for Mme. Granson, she was radiant. She had found a 
terrible weapon to use against du Bousquier at last; she could 
deal him a deadly blow. So she promised the poor victim of 
seduction the support of all the ladies who subscribed to. the 
Maternity Fund. She foresaw a dozen calls in prospect. In 
the course of the morning and afternoon she would conjure 
down a terrific storm upon the elderly bachelor’s head. The 
Chevalier de Valois certainly foresaw the turn that matters 
were likely to take, but he had not expected anything like the 
amount of scandal that came of it. 

“We are going to dine with Mlle. Cormon, you know, dear 
boy,” said Mme. Granson; “take rather more pains with your 
appearance. It is a mistake to neglect your dress as you do; 
you look so untidy. Put on your best frilled shirt and your 
green cloth coat. I have my reasons,” she added, with a 
mysterious air. “And besides, there will be a great many 
people; Mlle. Cormon is going to the Prébaudet directly. If 
a young man is thinking of marrying, he ought to make him- 
self agreeable in every possible way. If girls would only tell 
the truth, my boy, dear me! you would be surprised at the 
things that take their fancy. It is often quite enough if a 
young man rides by at the head of a company of artillery, or 


40 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


comes to a dance in a suit of clothes that fits him passably 
well. A certain way of carrying the head, a melancholy atti- . 
tude, is enough to set a girl imagining a whole life; we invent 
a romance to suit the hero; often he is only a stupid young 
man, but the marriage is made. Take notice of M. de Valois, 
study him, copy his manners ; see how he looks at ease; he has 
not a constrained manner, as you have. And talk a little; 
any one might think that you knew nothing at all, you that 
know Hebrew by heart.” 

Athanase heard her submissively, but he looked surprised. 
He rose, took his cap, and went back to his work. 

“Can mother have guessed my secret?” he thought, as he 
went round by the Rue du Val-Noble where Mlle. Cormon 
lived, a little pleasure in which he indulged of a morning. 
His head was swarming with romantic fancies. 

“How little she thinks that going past her house at this 
moment is a young man who would love her dearly, and be 
true to her, and never cause her a single care, and leave her 
fortune entirely in her own hands! Oh me! what a strange 
fatality it is that we two should live as we do in the same town 
and within a few paces of each other, and yet nothing can 
bring us any nearer! How if I spoke to her to-night ?” 

Meanwhile Suzanne went home to her mother, thinking the 
while of poor Athanase, feeling that for him she could find it 
in her heart to do what many a woman must have longed to 
do for the one beloved with superhuman strength; she could 
have made a stepping-stone of her beautiful body if so he 
might come to his kingdom the sooner. 


And now we must enter the house where all the actors in 
this Scene (Suzanne excepted) were to meet that very even- 
ing, the house belonging to the old maid, the converging 
point of so many interests. As for Suzanne, that young 
woman with her well-grown beauty, with courage sufficient to 
burn her boats, like Alexander, and to begin the battle of life 
with an uncalled-for sacrifice of her character, she now dis- 
appears from the stage after bringing about a violently excit- 


THB JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 41 


ing situation. Her wishes, moreover, were more than ful- 
filled. A few days afterwards she left her native place with a 
stock of money and fine clothes, including a superb green rep 
gown and a green bonnet lined with rose color, M. de Valois’ 
gifts, which Suzanne liked better than anything else, better 
even than the Maternity Society's money. If the Chevalier 
had gone to Paris while Suzanne was in her hey-day, she 
would assuredly have left all for him. 

And so this chaste Susanna, of whom the elders scarcely 
had more than a glimpse, settled herself comfortably and 
hopefully in Paris, while all Alencon was deploring the mis- 
fortunes with which the ladies of the Charitable and Mater- 
nity Societies had manifested so lively a sympathy. 

While Suzanne might be taken as a type of the handsome 
Norman virgins who furnish, on the showing of a learned 
physician, one-third of the supply devoured by the monster, 
Paris, she entered herself, and remained in those higher 
branches of her profession in which some regard is paid to 
appearances. In an age in which, as M. de Valois said, 
“woman has ceased to be woman,” she was known merely as 
Mme. du Val-Noble; in other times she would have rivaled 
an Imperia, a Rhodope, a Ninon. One of the most distin- 
guished writers of the Restoration took her under his protec- 
tion, and very likely will marry her some day; he is a journal- 
ist, and above public opinion, seeing that he creates a new one 
every six years. 

In almost every prefecture of the second magnitude there 
is some salon frequented not exactly by the cream of the local 
society, but by personages both considerable and well consid- 
ered. The host and hostess probably will be among the fore- 
most people in the town. To them all houses are open; no 
entertainment, no public dinner is given, but they are asked 
to it; but in their salon you will not meet the gens a chateau— 
lords of the manor, peers of France living on their broad 
acres, and persons of the highest quality in the department, 
though these are all on visiting terms with the family, and 
exchange invitations to dinners and evening parties. The 


42 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


mixed society to be found there usually consists of the lesser 
noblesse resident in the town, with the clergy and judicial 
authorities. It is an influential assemblage. All the wit and 
sense of the district is concentrated in its solid, unpretentious 
ranks. Everybody in the set knows the exact amount of his 
neighbor’s income, and professes the utmost indifference to 
dress and luxury, trifles held to be mere childish vanity com- 
pared with the acquisition of a mouchowr a beufs—a pocket- 
handkerchief of some ten or a dozen acres, purchased after as 
many years of pondering and intriguing and a prodigious 
deal of diplomacy. 

Unshaken in its prejudices whether good or ill, the coterie 
goes on its way without a look before or behind. Nothing — 
from Paris is allowed to pass without a prolonged scrutiny ; 
innovations are ridiculous, and consols and cashmere shawls 
alike objectionable. Provincials read nothing and wish to 
learn nothing; for them, science, literature, and mechanical 
invention are as the thing that is not. If a prefect does not 
suit their notions, they do their best to have him removed; 
if this cannot be done, they isolate him. So will you see the 
inmates of a beehive wall up an intruding snail with wax. 
Finally, of the gossip of the salon, history is made. Young 
married women put in an appearance there occasionally 
(though the card-table is the one resource) that their conduct 
may be stamped with the approval of the coterie and their 
social status confirmed. 

Native susceptibilities are sometimes wounded by the su- 
premacy of a single house, but the rest comfort themselves 
with the thought that they save the expense entailed by the 
position. Sometimes it happens that no one can afford to keep 
open house, and then the bigwigs of the place look about them 
for some harmless person whose character, position, and social 
standing offer guarantees for the neutrality of the ground, 
and alarm nobody’s vanity or self-interest. This had been the 
case at Alencgon. For a long time past the best society of the 
town has been wont to assemble in the house of the old maid 
before mentioned, who little suspected Mme. Granson’s de- 


THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 43 


signs on her fortune, or the secret hopes of the two elderly 
bachelors who have just been unmasked. 

Mlle. Cormon was Mme. Granson’s fourth cousin. She 
lived with her mother’s brother, a sometime vicar-general of 
the bishopric of Séez; she had been her uncle’s ward, and 
would one day inherit his fortune. Rose Marie Victoire 
Cormon was the last representative of a house which, plebeian 
though it was, had associated and often allied itself with the 
noblesse, and ranked among the oldest families in the prov- 
ince. In former times the Cormons had been intendants of 
the duchy of Alencon, and had given a goodly number of 
magistrates to the bench, and several bishops to the Church. 
M. de Sponde, Mile. Cormon’s maternal grandfather, was 
elected by the noblesse to the States-General ; and M. Cormon, 
her father, had been asked to represent the Third Estate, but 
neither of them accepted the responsibility. For the last 
century, the daughters of the house had married into the 
noble families of the province, in such sort that the Cormons 
were grafted into pretty nearly every genealogical tree in the 
duchy. No burgher family came so near being noble. 

The house in which the present Mlle. Cormon lived had 
never passed out of the family since it was built by Pierre 
Cormon in the reign of Henri IV.; and of all the old maid’s 
worldy possessions, this one appealed most to the greed of her 
elderly suitors; though, so far from bringing in money, the 
ancestral home of the Cormons was a positive expense to its 
owner. But it is such an unusual thing, in the very centre of 
a country town, to find a house handsome without, convenient 
within, and free from mean surroundings, that all Alengon 
shared the feeling of envy. 

The old mansion stood exactly half-way down the Rue du 
Val-Noble, The Val-Noble, as it was called, probably because 
the Brillante, the little stream which flows through the town, 
has hollowed out a little valley for itself in a dip of the land 
thereabouts. The most noticeable feature of the house was its 
massive architecture, of the style introduced from Italy by 
Marie de’ Medici; all the corner-stones and facings were cut 


44 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


with diamond-shaped bosses, in spite of the difficulty of work- 
ing in the granite of which it is built. It was a two-storied 
house with a very high-pitched roof, and a row of dormer 
windows, each with its carved tympanum standing pictur- 
esquely enough above the lead-lined parapet with its orna- 
mental balustrade. A grotesque gargoyle, the head of some 
fantastic bodyless beast, discharged the rain-water through 
its jaws into the street below, where great stone slabs, pierced 
with five holes, were placed to receive it. Hach gable termi- 
nated in a leaden finial, a sign that this was a burgher’s house, 
for none but nobles had a right to put up a weathercock in 
olden times. To right and left of the yard stood the stables 
and the coach-house; the kitchen, laundry, and wood-shed. 
One of the leaves of the great gate used to stand open; so 
that passers-by, looking in through the little low wicket with 
the bell attached, could see the parterre in the middle of a 
spacious paved court, and the low-clipped privet hedges which 
marked out miniature borders full of monthly roses, clove 
gilliflowers, scabious, and lilies, and Spanish broom; as well 
as the laurel bushes and pomegranates and myrtles which 
grew in tubs put out of doors for the summer. 

The scrupulous neatness and tidiness of the place must 
have struck any stranger, and furnished him with a clue to 
the old maid’s character. The mistress’ eyes must have been 
unemployed, careful, and prying; less, perhaps, from any 
natural bent, than for want of any occupation. Who but an 
elderly spinster, at a loss how to fill an always empty day, 
would have insisted that no blade of grass should show itself 
in the paved courtyard, that the wall-tops should be scoured, 
that the broom should always be busy, that the coach should 
never be left with the leather curtains undrawn? Who else, 
from sheer lack of other employment, could have introduced 
something like Dutch cleanliness into a little province be- 
tween Perche, Normandy, and Brittany, where the natives 
make boast of their crass indifference to comfort? The Che- 
valier never climbed the steps without reflecting inwardly that 
the house was fit for a peer of France; and du Bousquier simi- 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 45 


larly considered that the Mayor of Alencon ought to live there. 

A glass door at the top of the flight of steps gave admit- 
tance to an ante-chamber lighted by a second glass door oppo- 
site, above a corresponding flight of steps leading into the 
garden. This part of the house, a kind of gallery floored with 
square red tiles, and wainscoted to elbow-height, was a hos- 
pital for invalid family portraits; one here and there had lost 
an eye or sustained injury to a shoulder, another stood with a 
hole in the place where his hat should have been, yet another 
had lost a leg by amputation. Here cloaks, clogs, overshoes, 
and umbrellas were left; everybody deposited his belongings 
in the ante-chamber on his arrival, and took them again at 
his departure. A long bench was set against either wall for 
the servants who came of an evening with their lanterns to 
fetch home their masters and mistresses, and a big stove was 
set in the middle to mitigate the icy blasts which swept across 
from door to door. 

This gallery, then, divided the ground floor into two equal 
parts. The staircase rose to the left on the side nearest the 
courtyard, the rest of the space being taken up by the great 
dining-room, with its windows looking out upon the garden, 
and a pantry beyond, which communicated with the kitchen. 
To the right lay the salon, hghted by four windows, and a 
couple of smaller rooms beyond it, a boudoir which gave upon 
the garden, and a room which did duty as a study and looked 
into the courtyard. There was a complete suite of rooms on 
the first floor, beside the Abbé de Sponde’s apartments; while 
the attic story, in all probability roomy enough, had long 
since been given over to the tenancy of rats and mice. Mlle. 
Cormon used to report their nocturnal exploits to the Cheva- 
lier de Valois, and marvel at the futility of all measures taken 
against them. 

The garden, about half an acre in extent, was bounded by 
the Brillante, so called from the mica spangles which glitter 
in its bed; not, however, in the Val-Noble, for the manu- 
facturers and dyers of Alencon pour all their refuse into the 
shallow stream before it reaches this point; and the opposite 


46 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


bank, as always happens wherever a stream passes through a 
town, was lined with houses where various thirsty industries 
were carried on. Luckily, Mlle. Cormon’s neighbors were all 
of them quiet tradesmen—a baker, a fuller, and one or two 
cabinet-makers. Her garden, full of old-fashioned flowers, 
naturally ended in a terrace, by way of a quay, with a short 
flight of steps down to the water’s edge. Try to picture the 
wall-flowers growing in blue-and-white glazed jars along the 
balustrade by the river, behold a shady walk to right and left 
beneath the square-clipped lime-trees, and you will have some 
idea of a scene full of unpretending cheerfulness and sober 
tranquillity ; you can see the views of homely humble life along 
the opposite bank, the quaint houses, the trickling stream of 
the Brillante, the garden itself, the linden walks under the 
garden walls, and the venerable home built by the Cormons. 
How peaceful, how quiet it was! If there was no ostentation, 
there was nothing transitory, everything seemed to last for 
ever there. 

The ground-floor rooms, therefore, were given over to 
social uses. You breathed the atmosphere of the Province, 
ancient, unalterable Province. The great square-shaped salon, 
with its four doors and four windows, was modestly wains- 
coted with carved panels, and painted gray. On the wall, 
above the single oblong mirror on the chimney-piece, the 
Hours, in monochrome, were ushering in the day. For this 
particular style of decoration, which used to infest the spaces 
above doors, the artist’s invention devised the eternal Seasons 
which meet your eyes almost anywhere in central France, till 
you loathe the detestable Cupids engaged in reaping, skating, 
sowing seeds, or flinging flowers about. Every window was 
overarched with a sort of baldachin with green damask cur- 
tains drawn back with cords and huge tassels. The tapestry- 
covered furniture, with a darn here and there at the edges of 
the chairs, belonged distinctly to that period of the eighteenth 
century when curves and contortions were in the very height 
of fashion; the frames were painted and varnished, the sub- 
jects in the medallions on the backs were taken from La Fon- 


THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN AT 


taine. Four card-tables, a table for piquet, and another for 
backgammon filled up the immense space. A rock crystal 
chandelier, shrouded in green gauze, hung suspended from the 
prominent crossbeam which divided the ceiling, the only 
plastered ceiling in the house. 'T'wo branched candle-sconces 
were fixed into the wall above the chimney-piece, where a 
couple of blue Sévres vases stood on either side of a copper 
gilt clock which represented a scene taken from Le Déserteur 
—a proof of the prodigious popularity of Sedaine’s work. 
It was a group of no less than eleven figures, four inches 
high; the Deserter emerging from jail escorted by a guard of 
soldiers, while a young person, swooning in the foreground, 
held out his reprieve. The hearth and fire-irons were of the 
same date and style. The more recent family portraits— 
one or two Rigauds and three pastels by Latour—adorned 
the wainscot panels. 

The study, paneled entirely in old lacquer work, red and 
black and gold, would have fetched fabulous sums a few years 
later; Mlle. Cormon was as far as possible from suspecting 
its value; but if she had been offered a thousand crowns for 
every panel, she would not have parted with a single one. It 
was a part of her system to alter nothing, and everywhere 
in the provinces the belief in ancestral hoards is very strong. 
The boudoir, never used, was hung with the old-fashioned 
chintz so much run after nowadays by amateurs of the 
“Pompadour style,” as it is called. 

The dining-room was paved with black-and-white stone; 
it had not been ceiled, but the joists and beams were painted. 
Ranged round the walls, beneath a flowered trellis, painted in 
fresco, stood the portentous, marble-topped sideboards, 1n- 
dispensable in the warfare waged in the provinces against the 
powers of digestion. The chairs were cane-seated and 
varnished, the doors of unpolished walnut wood. Everything 
combined admirably to complete the general effect, the old- 
world air of the house within and without. The provincial 
spirit had preserved all as it had always been ; nothing was 
new or old, young or decrepit. You felt a sense of chilly 
precision everywhere. 


48 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


Any tourist in Brittany, Normandy, Maine, or Anjou must 
have seen some house more or less like this in one or other 
provincial town; for the Hotel de Cormon was in its way a 
very pattern and model of burgher houses over a large part 
of France, and the better deserves a place in this chronicle 
because it is at once a commentary on the manners of the 
place and the expression of its ideas. Who does not feel, 
even now, how much the life within the old walls was one of 
peaceful routine ? 

For such library as the house possessed you must have de- 
scended rather below the level of the Brillante. There stood 
a solidly clasped oak-bound collection, none the worse, nay, 
rather the better, for a thick coating of dust; a collection 
kept as carefully as a cider-growing district is wont to keep 
the products of the presses of Burgundy, Touraine, Gascony, 
and the South. Here were works full of native force, and 
exquisite qualities, with an added perfume of antiquity. No 
one will import poor wines when the cost of carriage is so 
heavy. 

Mule. Cormon’s whole circle consisted of about a hundred 
and fifty persons. Of these, some went into the country, some 
were ill, others from home on business in the department, but 
there was a faithful band which always came, unless Mlle. 
Cormon gave an evening party in form; so also did those 
persons who were bound either by their duties or old habit to 
live in Alengon itself. All these people were of ripe age. A 
few among them had traveled, but scarcely any of them had 
gone beyond the province, and one or two had been implicated 
in Chouannerie. People could begin to speak freely of the 
war, now that rewards had come to the heroic defenders of 
the good cause. M. de Valois had been concerned in the last 
rising, when the Marquis de Montauran lost his life, be- 
trayed by his mistress; and Marche-a-Terre, now peacefully 
driving a grazier’s trade by the banks of the Mayenne, had 
made a famous name for himself. M. de Valois, during the 
past six months, had supplied the key to several shrewd tricks 
played off upon Hulot, the old Republican, commander of a 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 49 


demi-brigade stationed at Alencon from 1798 till 1800. 
There was talk of Hulot yet in the countryside.* 

The women made little pretence of dress, except on Wed- 
nesdays when Mlle. Cormon gave a dinner party, and last 
week’s guests came to pay their “visit of digestion.” On 
Wednesday evening the rooms were filled. Guests and visitors 
came in gala dress; here and there a woman brought 
her knitting or her tapestry work, and some young ladies un- 
blushingly drew patterns for point d’Alencgon, by which they 
supported themselves. Men brought their wives, because 
there was so few young fellows there; no whisper could pass 
unnoticed, and therefore there was no danger of love-making 
for maid or matron. Every evening at six o’clock the lobby 
was filled with articles of dress, with sticks, cloaks, and lan- 
terns. very one was so well acquainted, the customs of the 
house were so primitive, that if by any chance the Abbé de 
Sponde was in the lime-tree walk, and Mlle. Cormon in her 
.room, neither Josette the maid nor Jacquelin the man thought 
it necessary to inform them of the arrival of visitors. The 
first comer waited till some one else arrived; and when they 
mustered players sufficiently for whist or boston, the game was 
begun without waiting for the Abbé de Sponde or Made- 
moiselle. When it grew dark, Josette or Jacquelin brought 
lights as soon as the bell rang, and the old Abbé out in the 
garden, seeing the drawing-room windows illuminated, 
-hastened slowly towards the house. Every evening the piquet, 
boston, and whist tables were full, giving an average of 
twenty-five or thirty persons, including those who came to 
chat; but often there were as many as thirty or forty, and 
then Jacquelin took candles into the study and the boudoir. 
Between eight and nine at night the servants began to fill the 
ante-chamber ; and nothing short of a revolution would have 
found any one in the salon by ten o’clock. At that hour the 
frequenters of the house were walking home through the 
streets, discussing the points made, or keeping up a conversa- 
tion begun in the salon. Sometimes the talk turned on a 


* See Les Chouans, 


50 THB JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


pocket-handkerchief of land on which somebody had an eye, 
sometimes it was the division of an inheritance and disputes — 
among the legatees, or the pretensions of the aristocratic set. 
You see exactly the same thing at Paris when the theatres 
disgorge. 

Some people who talk a great deal about poetry and un- 
derstand nothing about it, are wont to rail at provincial 
towns and provincial ways; but lean your forehead on your 
left hand, as you sit with your feet on the fire-dogs, and rest 
your elbow on your knee, and then—if you have fully realized 
for yourself the level pleasant landscape, the house, the in- 
terior, the folks within it and their interests, interests that 
seem all the larger because the mental horizon is so limited 
(as a grain of gold is beaten thin between two sheets of 
parchment)—then ask yourself what human life is. Try to 
decide between the engraver of the hieroglyphic birds on an 
Egyptian obelisk, and one of these folk in Alengon playing 
boston through a score of years with du Bousquier, M. de 
Valois, Mlle. Cormon, the President of the Tribunal, the 
Public Prosecutor, the Abbé de Sponde, Mme. Granson e 
tutti quanti. If the daily round, the daily pacing of the 
same track in the footsteps of many yesterdays, is not ex- 
actly happiness, it is so much like it that others, driven by 
dint of storm-tossed days to reflect on the blessings of calm, 
will say that it is happiness indeed. 

To give the exact measure of the importance of Mlle. Cor- 
mon’s salon, it will suffice to add that du Bousquier, a born 
statistician, computed that its frequenters mustered among 
them a hundred and thirty-one votes in the electoral college, 
and eighteen hundred thousand livres of income derived from 
lands in the province. The town of Alencon was not, it is 
true, completely represented there. The aristocratic section, 
for instance, had a salon of their own, and the receiver- 
general’s house was a sort of official inn kept, as in duty 
bound, by the Government, where everybody who was anybody 
danced, flirted, fluttered, fell in love, and supped. One or two 
unclassified persons kept up the communications between 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 51 


Mlle. Cormon’s salon and the other two, but the Cormon salon 
criticised all that passed in the opposed camps very severely. 
Sumptuous dinners gave rise to unfavorable comment; ices 
at a dance caused searchings of heart; the women’s behavior 
and dress and any innovations were much discussed. 

Mlle. Cormon being, as it were, the style of the firm, and 
figure-head of an imposing coterie, was inevitably the object 
of any ambition as profound as that of the du Bousquier or 
the Chevalier de Valois. To both gentlemen she meant a 
seat in the Chamber of Deputies, with a peerage for the 
Chevalier, a receiver-general’s post for du Bousquier. A 
salon admittedly of the first rank is every whit as hard to 
build up in a country town as in Paris. And here was the 
salon ready made. To marry Mlle. Cormon was to be lord of 
Alencon. Finally, Athanase, the only one of the three suitors 
that had ceased to calculate, cared as much for the woman as 
for her money. 

Is there not a whole strange drama (to use the modern 
eant phrase) in the relative positions of these four human 
beings? There is something grotesque, is there not, in the 
idea of three rival suitors eagerly pressing about an old maid 
who never so much as suspected their intentions, in 
spite of ‘her intense and very natural desire to be 
married? Yet although, things being so, it may 
seem an extraordinary thing that she should not have 
married before, it is not difficult to explain how and 
why, in spite of her fortune and her three suitors, Mlle. 
Cormon was still unwed. 

From the first, following the family tradition, Mlle. Cor- 
mon had always wished to marry a noble, but between the 
years 1789 and 1799 circumstances were very much against 
her. While she would have wished tc be the wife of a person 
of condition, she was horribly afraid of the Revolutionary 
Tribunal; and these two motives weighing about equally, she 
remained stationary, according to a law which holds equally 
good in esthetics or statics. At the same time, the condition 
of suspended judgment is not unpleasant for a girl, so long 


52 THE JHALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


as she feels young and thinks that she can choose where she 
pleases. But, as all France knows, the system of government 
immediately preceding the wars of Napoleon produced a vast — 
number of widows; and the number of heiresses was al- 
together out of proportion to the number of eligible men. 
When order was restored in the country, in the time of the 
Consulate, external difficulties made marriage as much of a 
problem as ever for Rose Marie Victoire. On the one hand, 
she declined to marry an elderly man; and, on the other, dread 
of ridicule and circumstances put quite young men out of the 
question. In those days heads of families married their sons 
as mere boys, because in this way they escaped the conscrip- 
tion. With the obstinacy of a landed proprietor, made- 
moiselle would not hear of marrying a military man; she 
had no wish to take a husband only to give him back to the 
Emperor, she wished to keep him for herself. And so, be- 
tween 1804 and 1815 it was impossible to compete with a 
younger generation of girls, too numerous already in times 
when cannon shot had thinned. the ranks of marriageable 
men. 

Again, apart from Mlle. Cormon’s predilection for birth, 
she had a very pardonable craze for being loved for her own 
sake. You would scarcely believe the lengths to which she 
carried this fancy. She set her wits to work to lay snares for 
her admirers, to try their sentiments; and that with such suc- 
cess, that the unfortunates one and all fell into them, and 
succumbed in the whimsical ordeals through which they 
passed at unawares. Mlle. Cormon did not study her suitors, 
she played the spy upon them. A careless word, or a joke, 
and the lady did not understand jokes very well, was excuse 
enough to dismiss an aspirant as found wanting. This had 
neither spirit nor delicacy; that was untruthful and not a 
Christian ; one wanted to cut down tall timber and coin money 
under the marriage canopy; another was not the man to make 
her happy; or, again, she had her suspicions of gout in the 
family, or took fright at her wooer’s antecedents. Like 
Mother Church, she would fain see a priest without blemish 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 53 


at her altar. And then Rose Marie Victoire made the worst 
of herself, and was as anxious to be loved, with all her facti- 
tious plainness and imaginary faults, as other women are to 
be married for virtues which they have not and for borrowed 
beauty. Mlle. Cormon’s ambition had its source in the finest 
instincts of womanhood. She would reward her lover by 
discovering to him a thousand virtues after marriage, as 
other women reveal the many little faults kept hitherto strenu- 
ously out of sight. But no one understood. The noble girl 
came in contact with none but commonplace natures, with 
whom practical interests came first; the finer calculations of 
feeling were beyond their comprehension. 

She grew more and more conspicuous as the critical period 
so ingeniously called “second youth” drew nearer. Her fancy 
for making the worst of herself with increasing success 
frightened away the latest recruits; they hesitated to unite 
their lot with hers. The strategy of her game of hoodman- 
blind (the virtues to be revealed when the finder’s eyes were 
opened) was a complex study for which few men have in- 
clination ; they prefer perfection ready-made. An ever-pres- 
ent dread of being married for her money made her unrea- 
sonably distrustful and uneasy. She fell foul of the rich, 
and the rich could look higher; she was afraid of poor men, 
she would not believe them capable of that disinterestedness 
on which she set such store; till at length her rejections and 
other circumstances let in an unexpected light upon the minds 
of suitors thus presented for her selection like dried peas on 
a seedman’s sieve. Every time a marriage project came to 
nothing, the unfortunate girl, being gradually led to despise 
mankind, saw the other sex at last in a false light. In- 
evitably, in her inmost soul, she grew misanthropic, a tinge 
of bitterness was infused into her conversation, a certain 
harshness into her expression. And her manners became 
more and more rigid under the stress of enforced celibacy ; 
in her despair she sought to perfect herself. It was a noble 
vengeance. She would polish and cut for God the rough 
diamond rejected by men. 


54 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


\ 


Before long public opinion was against Mlle. Cormon. 
People accept the verdict which a woman passes upon herself . 
if, being free to marry, she fails to fulfil expectations, or is 
known to have refused eligible suitors. Every one decides 
that she has her own reasons for declining marriage, and 
those reasons are always misinterpreted. ‘There was some 
hidden physical defect or deformity, they said; but she, poor 
girl, was pure as an angel, healthy as a child, and overflow- 
ing with kindness. Nature had meant her to know all the 
joys, all the happiness, all the burdens of motherhood. 

Yet in her person Mlle. Cormon did not find a natural 
_ auxiliary to gain her heart’s desire. She had no beauty, save 
of the kind so improperly called “the devil’s”; that full- 
blown freshness of youth which, theologically speaking, the 
Devil never could have possessed; unless, indeed, we are to 
look for an explanation of the expression in the Devil’s con- 
tinual desire of refreshing himself. ‘The heiress’ feet were 
large and flat; when, on rainy days, she crossed the wet streets 
between her house and St. Leonard’s, her raised skirt dis- 
played (without malice, be it said) a leg which scarcely 
seemed to belong to a woman, so muscular was it, with a 
small, firm, prominent calf like a sailor’s. She had a figure - 
for a wet nurse. Her thick, honest waist, her strong, plump 
arms, her red hands; everything about her, in short, was in 
keeping with the round, expansive contours and portly fair- 
ness of the Norman style of beauty. Wide open, prominent 
eyes of no particular color gave to a face, by no means dis- 
tinguished in its round outlines, a sheepish, astonished ex- 
pression not altogether inappropriate, however, in an old 
maid: even if Rose had not been innocent, she must still have 
seemed so. An aquiline nose was oddly assorted with a low 
forehead, for a feature of that type is almost invariably found 
in company with a lofty brow. In spite of thick, red lips, 
the sign of great kindliness of nature, there were evidently 
so few ideas behind that forehead, that Rose’s heart could 
scarcely have been directed by her brain. Kind she must 
certainly be, but not gracious. And we are apt to judge the 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN D5 


defects of goodness very harshly, while we make the most of 
the redeeming qualities of vice. 

An extraordinary length of chestnut hair lent Rose Cormon 
such beauty as belongs to vigor and luxuriance, her chief per- 
sonal characteristics. In the time of her pretensions she had 
a trick of turning her face in three-quarters profile to display 
a very pretty ear, gracefully set between the azure-streaked 
white throat and the temple, and thrown into relief by thick 
masses of her hair. Dressed in a ball gown, with her head 
poised at this angle, Rose might almost seem beautiful. With 
her protuberant bust, her waist, her high health, she used to 
draw exclamations of admiration from Imperial officers. 
“What a fine girl!” they used to say. 

But, as years went on, the stoutness induced by a quiet, 
regular life distributed itself so unfortunately over her person, 
that its original proportions were destroyed. No known 
variety of corset could have discovered the poor spinster’s 
hips at this period of her existence; she might have been cast 
in one uniform piece. The youthful proportions of her figure 
were completely lost; her dimensions had grown so excessive, 
that no one could see her stoop without fearing that, being 
so topheavy, she would certainly overbalance herself; but 
nature had provided a sufficient natural counterpoise, which 
enabled her to dispense with all adventitious aid from “dress 
improvers.” Everything about Rose was very genuine. 

Her chin developed a triple fold, which reduced the appar- 
ent length of her throat, and made it no easy matter to turn 
her head. She had no wrinkles, she had creases. Wags used 
to assert that she powdered herself, as nurses powder babies, 
to prevent chafing of the skin. To a young man, consumed, 
like Athanase, with suppressed desires, this excessive corpu- 
lence offered just the kind of physical charm which could not 
fail to attract youth. Youthful imaginations, essentially in- 
trepid, stimulated by appetite, are prone to dilate upon the 
beauties of that living expanse. So does the plump partridge 
allure the epicure’s knife.. And, indeed, any debt-burdened 
young man of fashion in Paris would have resigned himself 


~~, 
\ 


56 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


readily enough to fulfilling his part of the contract and mak- 
ing Mlle. Cormon happy. Still the unfortunate spinster had - 
already passed her fortieth year ! 

At this period of enforced loneliness, after the long, vain 
struggle to fill her life with those interests that are all in 
all to woman, she was fortifying herself in virtue by the most 
strict observance of religious duties; she had turned to the 
great consolation of well-preserved virginity. A confessor, 
endowed with no great wisdom, had directed Mlle. Cormon in 
the paths of asceticism for some three years past, recommend- 
ing a system of self-scourging calculated, according to modern 
doctors, to produce an effect the exact opposite of that ex- 
pected by the poor priest, whose knowledge of hygiene was 
but limited. These absurd practices were beginning to bring 
a certain monastic tinge to Rose Cormon’s face; with fre- 
quent pangs of despair, she watched the sallow hues of middle 
age creeping across its natural white and red; while the trace 
of down about the corners of her upper lip showed a distinct 
tendency to darken and increase like smoke. Her temples 
grew shiny. She had passed the turning-point, in fact. It 
was known for certain in Alencon that Mlle. Cormon suffered 
from heated blood. She inflicted her confidence upon the 
Chevalier de Valois, reckoning up the number of foot-baths 
that she took, and devising cooling treatment with him. And 
that shrewd observer would end by taking out his snuff-box, 
and gazing at the portrait of the Princess Goritza as he re- 
marked, “But the real sedative, my dear young lady, would 
be a good and handsome husband.” 

“But whom could one trust?” returned she. 

But the Chevalier only flicked away the powdered snuff 
from the creases of his paduasoy waistcoat. To anybody else 
the proceeding would have seemed perfectly natural, but it 
always made the poor old maid feel uncomfortable. 

The violence of her objectless longings grew to such a height 
that she shrank from looking a man in the face, so afraid was 
she that the thoughts which pierced her heart might be read 
in her eyes. It was one of her whims, possibly a later de- 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 57 


velopment of her former tactics, to behave almost ungra- 
ciously to the possible suitors towards whom she still felt her- 
self attracted, so afraid was she of being accused of folly. 
Most people in her circle were utterly incapable of appreciat- 
ing her motives, so noble throughout ; they explained her man- 
ner to her coevals in single blessedness by a theory of revenge 
for some past slight. 

With the beginning of the year 1815 Rose Cormon had 
reached the fatal age, to which she did not confess. She was 
forty-two. By this time her desire to be married had 
reached a degree of intensity bordering on monomania. She 
saw her chances of motherhood fast shpping away for ever; 
‘and, in her divine ignorance, she longed above all things for 
children of her own. There was not a soul found in Alencon 
to impute a single unchaste desire to the virtuous girl. She 
loved love, taking all for granted, without realizing for her- 
self what love would be—a devout Agnés, incapable of in- 
venting one of the little shifts of Moliére’s heroine. 

She had been counting upon chance of late. The disband- 
ing of the Imperial troops and the reconstruction of the 
King’s army was sending a tide of military men back to their 
native places, some of them on half-pay, some with pensions, 
some without, and all of them anxicus to find some way of 
amending their bad fortune, and of finishing their days in a 
fashion which would mean the beginning of happiness . 
for Mlle. Cormon. It would be hard indeed if she could 
not find a single brave and honorable man among all those 
who were coming back to the neighborhood. He must have a 
sound constitution in the first place, he must be of suitable 
age, and a man whose personal character would serve as a 
passport to his Bonapartist opinions; perhaps he might even 
be willing to turn Royalist for the sake of gaining a lost 
social position. | : 

Supported by these mental calculations, Mlle. Cormon 
maintained the severity of her attitude for the first few 
months of the year; but the men that came back to the town 
were all either too old or too young, or their characters were 


58 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


too bad, or their opinions too Bonapartist, or their station in 
life was incompatible with her position, fortune, and habits. 
The case grew more and more desperate every day. Officers 
high in the service had used their advantages under Napoleon 
to marry, and these gentlemen now became Royalists for the 
sake of their families. In vain had she put up prayers to 
heaven to send her a husband that she might be happy in 
Christian fashion; it was written, no doubt, that she should 
die virgin and martyr, for not a single likely-looking man 
presented himself. 

In the course of conversation in her drawing-room of an 
evening, the frequenters of the house kept the police register 
under tolerably strict supervision; no one could arrive in 
Alencon but they informed themselves at once as to the new- 
comer’s mode of life, quality, and fortune. But, at the same 
time, Alencon is not a town to attract many strangers; it is 
not on the highroad to any larger city; there are no chance 
arrivals; naval officers on their way to Brest do not so much 
as stop in the place. 

Poor Mlle. Cormon at last comprehended that her choice 
was reduced to the natives. At times her eyes took an almost 
fierce expression, to which the Chevalier would respond with a 
keen glance at her as he drew out his snuff-box to gaze at the 
Princess Goritza. M. de Valois knew that in feminine 
jurisprudence, fidelity to an old love is a guarantee for the 
new. But Mlle. Cormon, it cannot be denied, was not very 
intelligent. His snuff-box strategy was wasted upon her. 

She redoubled her watchfulness, the better to combat the 
“evil one,” and with devout rigidness and the sternest prin- 
ciples she consigned her cruel sufferings to the secret places 
of her life. 

At night, when she was alone, she thought of her lost youth, 
of her faded bloom, of the thwarted instincts of her nature; 
and while she laid her passionate longings at the foot of the 
Cross, together with all the poetry doomed to remain pent 
within her, she vowed inwardly to take the first man that was 
willing to marry her, just as he was, without putting him to 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 59 


any proof whatsoever. Sounding her own dispositions, after 
a series of vigils, each more trying than the last, in her own 
mind she went so far as to espouse a_ sub-lieutenant, 
a tobacco-smoker to boot; nay, he was even head over ears in 
debt. Him she proposed to transform with care, submission, 
and gentleness into a pattern for mankind. But only in 
the silence of night could she plan these imaginary marriages, 
in which she amused herself with playing the sublime part of 
guardian angel; with morning, if Josette found her mistress’ 
bedclothes turned topsy-turvy, mademoiselle had recovered 
her dignity; with morning, after breakfast, she would have 
nothing less than a solid landowner, a well-preserved man of 
forty—a young man, as you may say. 

The Abbé de Sponde was incapable of giving his niece as- 
sistance of any sort in schemes for marriage. The good man, 
aged seventy or thereabouts, referred all the calamities of the 
Revolution to the design of a Providence prompt to punish 
a dissolute Church. For which reasons M. de Sponde had long 
since entered upon a deserted path to heaven, the way trodden 
by the hermits of old. He led an ascetic life, simply, unobtru- 
sively, hiding his deeds of charity, his constant prayer and 
fasting from all other eyes. Necessity was laid upon all 
priests, he thought, to do as he did; he preached by ex- 
ample, turning a serene and smiling face upon the world, 
while he completely cut himself off from worldly interests. 
All his thoughts were given to thé afflicted, to the needs of 
the Church, and the saving of his own soul. He left the 
management of his property to his niece. She paid over his 
- yearly income to him, and, after a slight deduction for his 
maintenance, the whole of it went in private almsgiving or in 
donations to the Church. 

All the Abbé’s affections were centered upon his niece, and 
she looked upon him as a father. He was a somewhat absent- 
minded father, however, without the remotest conception of 
the rebellion of the flesh; a father who gave thanks to God 
for maintaining his beloved daughter in a state of virginity ; 
for from his youth up he had held, with St. John Chrysostom, 


60 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


“that virginity is as much above the estate of marriage as the 
angels are above man.” 

Mlle. Cormon was accustomed to look up to her uncle; 
she did not venture to confide her wishes for a change of 
condition to him; and he, good man, on his side was ac- 
customed to the ways of the house, and perhaps might not 
have relished the introduction of a master into it. Absorbed 
in thoughts of the distress which he relieved, or lost in fathom- 
less inner depths of prayer, he was often unconscious of what 
was going on about him; frequenters of the house set this 
down to absent-mindedness; but while he said little, his 
silence was neither unsociabie nor ungenial. A tall, spare, 
grave, and solemn man, his face told of kindly feeling and a 
great inward peace. His presence in the house seemed as it 
were to consecrate it. The Abbé entertained a strong liking 
for that elderly sceptic the Chevalier de Valois. Far apart as 
their lives were, the two grand wrecks of the eighteenth cen- 
tury clergy and noblesse recognized each other by generic 
signs and tokens; and the Chevalier, for that matter, could 
converse with unction with the Abbé, just as he talked like a 
father with his grisettes. 

Some may think that Mlle. Cormon would leave no means 
untried to gain her end; that among other permissible femi- 
nine artifices, for instance, she would turn to her toilettes, 
wear low-cut bodices, use, the passive coquetry of a display of 
the splendid equipment with which she might take the field. 
On the contrary, she was as heroic and steadfast in her high- 
necked gown as a sentry in his sentry-box. All her dresses, 
bonnets, and finery were made in Alencon by two hunchbacked 
sisters, not wanting in taste. But in spite of the entreaties 
of the two artists, Mlle. Cormon utterly declined the ad- 
ventitious aid of elegance; she must be substantial through- 
out, body and plumage, and possibly her heavy-looking dresses 
became her not amiss. Laugh who will at her, poor thing. 
Generous natures, those who never trouble themselves about 
the form in which good feeling shows itself, but admire it 
wherever they find it, will see something sublime in this trait. 


THE JHALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 61 


Perhaps some slight-natured feminine critic may begin to 
carp, and say that there is no woman in France so simple 
but that she can angle for a husband; that Mlle. Cormon is 
one of those abnormal creatures which common-sense for- 
bids us to take for a type; that the best or the most babyish 
unmarried woman that has a mind to hook a gudgeon 
can put forward some physical charm wherewith to bait her 
line. But when you begin to think that the sublime Apostolic 
Roman Catholic is still a power in Brittany and the ancient 
duchy of Alencon, these criticisms fall to the ground. Faith 
and piety admit no such subtleties. Mlle. Cormon kept to the 
straight path, preferring the misfortunes of a maidenhood in- 
finitely prolonged to the misery of untruthfulness, to the sin 
of small deceit. Armed with self-discipline, such a girl can- 
not make a sacrifice of a principle; and therefore love (or 
self-interest) must make a determined effort to find her out 
and win her. 

Let us have the courage to make a confession, painful in 
these days when religion is nothing but a means of advance- 
ment for some, a dream for others; the devout are subject to 
a kind of moral ophthalmia, which, by the especial grace of 
Providence, removes a host of small earthly concerns out of 
the sight of the pilgrim of Eternity. In a word, the devout 
are apt to be dense in a good many ways. ‘Their stupidity, at 
the same time, is a measure of the force with which their 
spirits turn heavenwards; albeit the sceptical M. de Valois 
maintained that it is a moot point whether stupid women take 
naturally to piety, or whether piety, on the other hand, has a 
stupefying effect upon an intelligent girl. 

It must be borne in mind that it is the purest orthodox 
goodness, ready to drink rapturously of every cup set before it, 
to submit devoutly to the will of God, to see the print of 
the divine finger everywhere in the day of life,—that it is 
catholic virtue stealing like hidden light into the innermost 
recesses of this History that alone can bring everything into 
right relief, and widen its significance for those who yet have 
faith. And, again, if the stupidity is admitted, why should 


62 THE JEALOUSIHS OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


the misfortunes of stupidity be less interesting than the woes 
of genius in a world where fools so overwhelmingly pre- 
ponderate ? 

To resume. Mlle. Cormon’s divine girlish ignorance of 
life was an offence in the eyes of the world. She was any- 
thing but observant, as her treatment of her suitors suffi- 
ciently showed. At this very moment, .a girl of sixteen who 
had never opened a novel in her life might have read a hun- 
dred chapters of romance in Athanase’s eyes. But Mlle. 
Cormon saw nothing all the while; she never knew that the 
young man’s voice was unsteady with emotion which he dared 
not express, and the woman who could invent refinements of 
high sentiment to her own undoing could not Se the same 
feelings in Athanase. 

Those who know that qualities of heart and brain are as 
independent of each other as genius and greatness of soul, 
will see nothing extraordinary in this Dercholgered 
phenomenon. A complete human being is so rare a prodigy, 
that Socrates, that pearl among mankind, agreed with a con- 
temporary phrenologist that he himself was born to be a very 
scurvy knave. A great general may save his country at Zu- 
rich, and yet take a commission from contractors; a banker’s 
doubtful honesty does not prevent him from being a states- 
man; a great composer may give the world divine music, and 
yet forge another man’s signature, and a woman of refined 
feeling may be excessively weak-minded. In short, a devout 
woman may have a very lofty soul, and yet have no ears to 
hear the voice of another noble soul at her side. 

The unaccountable freaks of physical infirmity find a 
parallel in the moral world. Here was a good creature mak- 
ing her preserves and breaking her heart till she grew almost 
ridiculous, because, forsooth, there was no one to eat them 
but her uncle and herself. Those who sympathized with her 
for the sake of her good qualities, or, in some cases, on ac- 
count of her defects, used to laugh over her disappointments. 
People began to wonder what would become of so fine a prop- 
erty with all Mlle. Cormon’s savings, and her uncle’s to 
boot. 


THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 63 


It was long since they began to suspect that at bottom, 
and in spite of appearances, Mlle. Cormon was “an original.” 
Originality is not allowed in the provinces; originality means 
that you have ideas which nobody else can understand, and 
in a country town people’s intellects, like their manner of life, 
must all be on a level. Even in 1804 Rose’s matri- 
monial prospects were considered so problematical, that 
“to marry like Mlle. Cormon” was a current saying in 
Alengon, and the most ironical way of suggesting Such-an- 
one would never marry at all. 

The necessity to laugh at some one must indeed be im- 
perious in France, if any one could be found to raise a smile 
at the expense of that excellent creature. Not merely did 
she entertain the whole town, she was charitable, she was 
good; she was incapable of saying a spiteful word; and more 
than that, she was so much in unison with the whole spirit 
of the place, its manners and its customs, that she was gen- 
erally beloved as the very incarnation of the life of the 
province; she had imbibed all its prejudices and made its in- 
terests hers; she had never gone beyond its limits, she adored 
it ; she was embedded in provincial tradition. In spite of her 
eighteen thousand livres per annum, a tolerably large income 
for the neighborhood, she accommodated herself to the ways 
of her less wealthy neighbors. When she went to her country 
house, the Prébaudet, for instance, she drove over in an old- 
fashioned wicker cariole hung with white leather straps, and 
fitted with a couple of rusty weather-beaten leather curtains, 
which scarcely closed it in. The equipage, drawn by a fat 
broken-winded mare, was known all over the town. Jacque- 
lin, the man-servant, cleaned it as carefully as if it had been 
the finest brougham from Paris. Mademoiselle was fond of it ; 
it had lasted her a dozen years, a fact which she was wont to 
point out with the triumphant joy of contented parsimony. 
Most people were grateful to her for forbearing to humiliate 
them by splendor which she might have flaunted before their 
eyes ; it is even credible that if she had sent for a caléche from 
Paris, it would have caused more talk than any of her “disap- 


64 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


pointments.” After all, the finest carriage in the world, like 
the old-fashioned cariole, could only have taken her to the © 
Prébaudet; and in the provinces they always keep the end in 
view, and trouble themselves very little about the elegance of 
the means, provided that they are sufficient. 

To complete the picture of Mlle. Cormon’s household and 
domestic life, several figures must be grouped round Mlle. 
Cormon and the Abbé de Sponde. Jacquelin, and Josette, 
and Mariette, the cook, ministered to the comfort of uncle and 
niece. 

Jacquelin, a man of forty, short and stout, dark-haired and 
ruddy, with a countenance of the Breton sailor type, had 
been in service in the house for twenty-two years. He waited 
at table, groomed the mare, worked in the garden, cleaned the 
Abbé’s shoes, ran errands, chopped firewood, drove the eariole, 
went to the Prébaudet for corn, hay and straw, and 
slept like a dormouse in the ante-chamber of an evening. He 
was supposed to be fond of Josette, and Josette was six-and- 
thirty. But if she had married him, Mile. Cormon would 
have dismissed her, and so the poor lovers were fain to save 
up their wages in silence, and to wait and hope for made- 
moiselle’s marriage, much as the Jews look for the advent of 
the Messiah. 

Josette came from the district between Alenecon and 
Mortagne; she was a fat little woman. Her face, which re- 
minded you of a mud-bespattered apricot, was not wanting 
either in character or intelligence. She was supposed to rule 
her mistress. Josette and Jacquelin, feeling sure of the 
event, found consolation, presumably by discounting the 
future. Mariette, the cook, had likewise been in the family 
for fifteen years ; she was skilled in the cookery of the country 
and the preparation of the most esteemed provincial dishes. 

Perhaps the fat old bay mare, of the Normandy breed, 
which Mile. Cormon used to drive to the Prébaudet, ought to 
count a good deal, for the affection which the five inmates of 
the house bore the animal amounted to mania. Penelope, 
for that was her name, had been with them for eighteen years ; 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 65 


and so well was she cared for, so regularly tended, that Jacque- 
lin and mademoiselle hoped to get quite another ten years 
of work out of her. Penelope was a stock subject and source 
of interest in their lives. It seemed as if poor Mlle. Cormon, 
with no child of her own, lavished all her maternal affection 
upon the lucky beast. Almost every human being leading a 
solitary life in a crowded world will surround himself with 
a make-believe family of some sort, and Penelope took the 
place of dogs, cats, or canaries. 

These four faithful servants—for Penelope’s intelligence 
had been trained till it was very nearly on a par with the 
wits of the other three, while they had sunk pretty much into 
the dumb, submissive jog-trot life of the animal—these four 
retainers came and went and did the same things day after 
day, with the unfailing regularity of clockwork. But, to use 
their own expression, “they had eaten their white bread first.” 
Mlle. Cormon suffered from a fixed idea upon the nerves; 
and, after the wont of such sufferers, she grew fidgety and 
hard to please, not by force of nature, but because she had no 
outlet for her energies. She had neither husband nor 
children to fill her thoughts, so they fastened upon trifles. 
She would talk for hours at a stretch of some inconceivably 
small matter, of a dozen serviettes, for instance, lettered Z, 
which somehow or other had been put before O. 

“Why, what can Josette be thinking about?” she cried. 
“Has she no notion what she is doing?” 

Jacquelin chanced to be late in feeding Penelope one after- 
noon, so every day for a whole week afterwards mademoiselle 
inquired whether the horse had been fed at two o’clock. Her 
narrow imagination spent itself on small matters. A layer of 
dust forgotten by the feather mop, a slice of scorched toast, 
an omission to close the shutters on Jacquelin’s part when the 
sun shone in upon furniture and carpets,—all these important 
trifles produced serious trouble, mademoiselle lost her temper 
over them. “Nothing was the same as it used to be. The 
servants of old days were so changed that she did not know 
them. They were spoilt. She was too good to them,” and 


66 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


so forth and so forth. One day Josette gave her mistress the 
Journée du Chrétien instead of the Quinzaine de Paques. The 
whole town heard of the mistake before night. Mademoiselle 
had been obliged to get up and come out of church, disturbing 
whole rows of chairs and raising the wildest conjectures, so 
that she was obliged-afterwards to give all her friends a full 
account of the mishap. 

“Josette,” she said mildly, when she had come the whole 
way home from St. Leonard’s, “this must never happen 
again.” 

Mlle. Cormon was far from suspecting that it was a very 
fortunate thing for her that she could vent her spleen in petty 
squabbles. ‘The mind, like the body, requires exercise; these 
quarrels were a sort of mental gymnastics. Josette and Jacque- 
lin took such unevennesses of temper as the agricultural 
laborer takes the changes of the weather. The three good 
souls could say among themselves that “It is a fine day,” or 
“It rains,” without murmuring against the powers above. 
Sometimes in the kitchen of a morning they would wonder in 
what humor mademoiselle would wake, much as a farmer 
studies the morning mists. And of necessity Mlle. Cormon 
‘ended by seeing herself in all the infinitely small details which 
made up her life. Herself and God, her confessor and her 
washing-days, the preserves to be made, the services of the 
church to attend, and the uncle to take care of,—all these 
things absorbed faculties that were none of the strongest. 
For her the atoms of life were magnified by virtue of anoptical 
process peculiar to the selfish or the self-absorbed. To so per- 
fectly healthy a woman, the slightest symptom of indigestion 
was a positively alarming portent. She lived, moreover, 
under the ferule of the system of medicine practised by our 
grandsires ; a drastic dose fit to kill Penelope, taken four times 
a year, merely gave Mlle. Cormon a fillip. 

What tremendous ransackings of the week’s dietary if 
Josette, assisting her mistress to dress, discovered a scarcely 
visible pimple on shoulders that still boasted a satin skin! 
What triumph if the maid could bring a certain hare to her 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 67 


mistress’ recollection, and trace the accursed pimple to its 
origin in that too heating article of food! With what joy the 
two women would cry, “It is the hare beyond a doubt !” 

“Mariette over-seasoned it,” mademoiselle would add; “I 
always tell her not to overdo it for my uncle and me, but 
Mariette has no more memory than i4 

“Than the hare,” suggested Josette. 

“Tt is the truth,” returned mademoiselle; “she has no more 
memory than the hare; you have just hit it.” 





Four times in a year, at the beginning of each season, Mlle. 
Cormon went to spend a certain number of days at the 
Prébaudet. It was now the middle of May, when she liked 
to see how her apple-trees had “snowed,” as they say in the 
cider country, an allusion to the white blossoms strewn in the 
orchards in the spring. When the circles of fallen petals look 
like snow-drifts under the trees, the proprietor may hope to 
have abundance of cider in the autumn. Mlle. Cormon esti- 
mated her barrels, and at the same time superintended any 
necessary after-winter repairs, planning out work in the 
garden and orchard, from which she drew no inconsiderable 
supplies. Each time of year had its special business. 

Mademoiselle used to give a farewell dinner to her faithful 
inner circle before leaving, albeit she would see them again 
at the end of three weeks. All Alencon knew when the 
journey was to be undertaken. Any one that had fallen behind- 
hand immediately paid a call, her drawing-room was filled ; 
everybody wished her a prosperous journey, as if she had been 
starting for Calcutta. Then, in the morning, all the trades- 
people were standing in their doorways; every one, great and 
small, watched the cariole go past, and it seemed as if every- 
body learned a piece of fresh news when one repeated after 
another, “So Mile. Cormon is going to the Prébaudet.” 

One would remark, “She has bread ready baked, she has!’ 

And his neighbor would return, “Eh! my lads, she is a good 
woman ; if property always fell into such hands as hers, there 
would not be a beggar to be seen in the countryside.” 


68 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


Or another would exclaim, “Hullo! I should not wonder 
if our oldest vines are in flower, for there is Mlle. Cormon 
setting out for the Prébaudet. How comes it that she is so 
little given to marrying?” 

“T should be quite ready to marry her, all the same,” a wag 
would answer. “The marriage is ‘half made—one side is 
willing, but the other isn’t. Pooh! the oven is heating for 
M. du Bousquier.” : 

“M. du Bousquer? She has refused him.” 

At every house that evening people remarked solemnly, 
“Mlle. Cormon has gone.” 

Or perhaps, “So you have let MUe. Cormon go!” 

The Wednesday selected by Suzanne for making a scandal 
chanced to be this very day of leave-taking, when Mlle. Cor- 
mon nearly drove Josette to distraction over the packing of 
the parcels which she meant to take with her. A good deal 
that was done and said in the town that morning was like to 
lend additional interest to the farewell gathering at night. 
While the old maid was busily making preparations for her 
journey; while the astute Chevalier was playing his game of 
piquet in the house of Mlle. Armande de Gordes, sister of the 
aged Marquis de Gordes, and queen of the aristocratic salon, 
Mme. Granson had sounded the alarm bell in half a score of 
houses. ‘There was not a soul but felt some curiosity to see 
what sort of figure the seducer would cut that evening; and to 
Mme. Granson and the Chevalier de Valois it was an impor- 
tant matter to know how Mlle. Cormon would take the news, 
in her double quality of marriageable spinster and lady presi- 
dent of the Maternity Fund. As for the unsuspecting du 
Bousquier, he was taking the air on the Parade. He was just 
beginning to think that Suzanne had made a fool of him; and 
this suspicion only confirmed the rules which he had laid 
down with regard to womankind. 

On these high days the cloth was laid about half-past three 
in the Maison Cormon. Four o’clock was the state dinner 
hour in Alencon, on ordinary days they dined at two, as in the 
time of the Empire; but, then, they supped! 


> 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 69 


Mile. Cormon always felt an inexpressible sense of satisfac- 
tion when she was dressed to receive her guests as mistress of 
her house. It was one of the pleasures which she most relished, 
be it said without malice, though egoism certainly lay beneath 
the feeling. When thus arrayed for conquest, a ray of hope 
slid across the darkness of her soul; a voice within her cried 
that nature had not endowed her so abundantly in vain, that 
surely some enterprising man was about to appear for her. 
She felt the younger for the wish, and the fresher for her 
toilet; she looked at her stout figure with a certain elation; 
and afterwards, when she went downstairs to submit salon, 
study, and boudoir to an awful scrutiny, this sense of satisfac- 
tion still remained with her. To and fro she went, with the 
naive contentment of the rich man who feels conscious at every 
moment that he is rich and will lack for nothing all his life 
long. She looked round upon her furniture, the eternal furni- 
ture, the antiquities, the lacquered panels, and told herself 
that such fine things ought to have a master. 

After admiring the dining-room, where the space was 
filled by the long table with its snowy cloth, its score of 
covers symmetrically laid; after going through the roll-call 
of a squadron of bottles ordered up from the cellar, and mak- 
ing sure that each bore an honorable label; and finally, after 
a most minute verification of a score of little slips of paper 
on which the Abbé had written the names of the guests with a 
trembling hand—it was the sole occasion on which he took an 
active part in the household, and the place of every guest 
always gave rise to grave discussion—after this review, Mlle. 
Cormon in her fine array went into the garden to join her 
uncle; for at this pleasantest hour of the day he used to walk 
up and down the terrace beside the Brillante, listening to the 
twittering of the birds, which, hidden closely among the 
leaves in the lime-tree walk, knew no fear of boys or sports- 
men. 

Mlle. Cormon never came out to the Abbé during these 
intervals of waiting without asking some hopelessly absurd 
question, in the hope of drawing the good man into a discus- 


70 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


sion which might interest him. Her reasons for so doing must 
be given, for this very characteristic trait adds the finishing | 
touch to her portrait. 

Mlle. Cormon considered it a duty to talk; not that she 
was naturally loquacious, for, unfortunately, with her dearth 
of ideas and very limited stock of phrases, it was difficult to 
hold forth at any length; but she thought that in this way she 
was fulfilling the social duties prescribed by religion, which 
bids us be agreeable to our neighbor. It was a duty which 
weighed so much upon her mind, that she had submitted this 
case of conscience out of the Child’s Guide to Manners to her 
director, the Abbé Couturier. Whereupon, so far from being 
disarmed by the penitent’s humble admission of the violence 
of her mental struggles to find something to say, the old 
ecclesiastic, being firm in matters of discipline, read her a 
whole chapter out of St. Francois de Sales on the Duties of a 
Woman in the World; on the decent gaiety of the pious Chris- 
tian female, and the duty of confining her austerities to her- 
self; a woman, according to this authority, ought to be amiable 
in her home and to act in such a sort that her neighbor never 
feels dull in her company. After this Mlle. Cormon, with a 
deep sense of duty, was anxious to obey her director at any 
cost. He had bidden her to discourse agreeably, so every time 
the conversation languished she felt the perspiration breaking 
out over her with the violence of her exertions to find some- 
thing to say which should stimulate the flagging interest. She 
would come out with odd remarks at such times. Once she 
revived, with some success, a discussion on the ubiquity of the 
apostles (of which she understood not a syllable) by the un- 
expected observation that “You cannot be in two places at 
once unless you are a bird.” With such conversational cues as 
these, the lady had earned the title of “dear, good Mlle. 
Cormon” in her set, which phrase, in the mouth of local wits, 
might be taken to mean that she was as ignorant as a carp, 
and a bit of a “natural;” but there were plenty of people of 
her own calibre to take the remark literally, and reply, “Oh 
yes, Mile. Cormon is very good.” 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 71 


Sometimes (always in her desire to be agreeable to her 
guests and fulfil her duties as a hostess) she asked such ab- 
surd questions that everybody burst out laughing. She wanted 
to know, for example, what the Government did with the taxes 
which it had been receiving all these years; or how it was 
that the Bible had not been printed in the time of Christ, see- 
ing that it had been written by Moses. Altogether she was on 
a par with the English country gentleman, and member 
of the House of Commons, who made the famous speech in 
which he said, “I am always hearing of Posterity; I should 
very much like to know what Posterity has done for the 
country.” 

On such occasions, the heroic Chevalier de Valois came to 
the rescue, bringing up all the resources of his wit and tact 
at the sight of the smiles exchanged by pitiless smatterers. 
He loved to give to woman, did this elderly noble; he lent his 
wit to Mlle. Cormon by coming to her assistance with a para- 
dox, and covered her retreat so well, that sometimes it seemed 
as if she had said nothing foolish. She once owned seriously 
that she did not know the difference between an ox and a bull. 
The enchanting Chevalier stopped the roars of laughter by 
saying that oxen could never be more than uncles to the 
bullocks. Another time, hearing much talk of cattle-breeding 
and its difficulties—a topic which often comes up in conversa- 
tion in the neighborhood of the superb du Pin stud—she so 
far grasped the technicalities of horse breeding to ask, “Why, 
if they wanted colts, they did not serve a mare twice a year.” 
The Chevalier drew down the laughter upon himself. 

“Tt is quite possible,” said he. The company pricked up 
their ears. 

“The fault lies with the naturalists,” he continued; “they 
have not found out how to breed mares that are less than 
eleven months in foal.” 

Poor Mlle. Cormon no more Nuder ood the meaning of the 
words than the difference between the ox and the bull. The 
Chevalier met with no gratitude for his pains; his chivalrous 
services were beyond the reach of the lady’s comprehension. 


72 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


She saw that the conversation grew livelier; she was relieved 
to find that she was not so stupid as she imagined. A day 
came at last when she settled down in her ignorance, like the 
Duc de Brancas; and the hero of Le Distrait, it may be re- 
membered, made himself so comfortable in the ditch after his 
fall, that when the people came to pull him out, he asked what 
they wanted with him. Since a somewhat recent period Mlle. 
Cormon had lost her fears. She brought out her conversa- 
tional cues with a self-possession akin to that solemn manner 
—the very coxcombry of stupidity—which accompanies the 
fatuous utterances of British patriotism. 

As she went with stately steps towards the terrace there- 
fore, she was chewing the cud of reflection, seeking for some 
question which should draw her uncle out of a silence 
which always hurt her feelings; she thought that he felt dull. 

“Uncle,” she began, hanging on his arm, and nestling joy- 
ously close to him (for this was another of her make-believes, 
“Tf I had a husband, I should do just so!” she thought) — 
“Uncle, if everything on earth happens by the will of God, 
there must be a reason for everything.” 

““Assuredly,” the Abbé de Sponde answered gravely. He 
loved his niece, and submitted with angelic patience to be torn 
from his meditations. 

“Then if I never marry at all, it will be because it is the 
will of God?” 

“Yes, my child.” 

“But still, as there is nothing to prevent me from marrying 
to-morrow, my will perhaps might thwart the will of God ?”’ 

“That might be so, if we really knew God’s will,” returned 
the sub-prior of the Sorbonne. “Remark, my dear, that you 
insert an if.” 

Poor Rose was bewildered. She had hoped to lead her 
uncle to the subject of marriage by way of an argument ad 
omnipotentem. But the naturally obtuse are wont to adopt 
the remorseless logic of childhood, which is to say, they pro- 
ceed from the answer to another question, a method frequently 
found embarrassing. 


THH JHALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 73 


“But, uncle,” she persisted, “God cannot mean women never 
to marry; for if He did, all of them ought to be either un- 
married or married. Their lots are distributed unjustly.” 

“My child,” said the good Abbé, “you are finding fault with 
the Church, which teaches that celibacy is a more excellent 
way to God.” 

“But if the Church was right, and everybody was a good 
Catholic, there would soon be no more people, uncle.” 

“You are too ingenious, Rose; there is no need to be so in- 
genious to be happy.” 

Such words brought a smile of satisfaction to poor Rose’s 
lips and confirmed her in the good opinion which she began 
to conceive of herself. Behold how the world, like our friends 
and enemies, contributes to strengthen our faults. At this 
moment guests began to arrive, and the conversation was in- 
terrupted. On these high festival occasions, the disposition 
of the rooms brought about little familiarities between the 
servants and invited guests. Mariette saw the President of 
the Tribunal, a triple expansion glutton, as he passed by her 
kitchen. 

“Oh, M. du Ronceret, I have been making cauliflower au 
gratin on purpose for you, for mademoiselle knows how fond 
you are of it. ‘Mind you do not fail with it, Mariette,’ she 
said ; ‘M. le Président is coming.’ ” 

“Good Mlle. Cormon,” returned the man of law. “Mari- 
ette, did you baste the cauliflowers with gravy instead of 
stock? It is more savory.” And the President did not dis- 
dain to enter the council-chamber where Mariette ruled the 
roast, nor to cast an epicure’s eye over her preparations, and 
give his opinion as a master of the craft. 

“Good-day, mademe,” said Josette, addressing Mme. Gran- 
son, who sedulously cultivated the waiting-woman. “Made- 
moiselle has not forgotten you; you are to have a dish of fish.” 

As for the Chevalier de Valois, he spoke to Mariette with 
the jocularity of a great noble unbending to an inferior: 

“Well, dear cordon bleu, I would give you the Cross of the 
Legion of Honor if I could; tell me, is there any dainty 
morsel for which one ought to save oneself ?” 


74 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


“Yes, yes, M. de Valois, a hare from the Prébaudet; it 
weighed fourteen pounds!” 

“That’s a good girl,” said the Chevalier, patting Josette on 
the cheek with two fingers. “Ah! weighs fourteen pounds, 
does 1t ?” 

Du Bousquier was not of the party. Mlle. Cormon treated 
him hardly, faithful to her system before described. In the 
very bottom of her heart she felt an inexplicable drawing 
towards this man of fifty, whom she had once refused. Some- 
times she repented of that refusal, and yet she had a pre- 
sentiment that she should marry him after all, and a dread of 
him which forbade her to wish for the marriage. These ideas 
stimulated her interest in du Bousquier. ‘The Republican’s 
herculean proportions produced an effect upon her which she 
would not admit to herself; and the Chevalier de Valois and 
Mme. Granson, while they could not explain Mlle. Cormon’s 
inconsistencies, had detected naive, furtive glances, sufficiently 
clear in their significance to set them both on the watch to 
ruin the hopes which du Bousquier clearly entertained in spite 
of a first check. 

Two guests kept the others waiting, but their official duties 
excused them both. One was M. du Coudrai, registrar of 
mortgages; the other, M. Choisnel, had once acted as land- 
steward to the Marquis de Gordes. Choisnel was the notary 
of the old noblesse, and received everywhere among them with 
the distinction which his merits deserved ; he had besides a not 
inconsiderable private fortune. When the two late comers ar- 
rived, Jacquelin, the man-servant, seeing them turn to go into 
the drawing-room, came forward with, “ ‘They’ are all in the 
garden.” 

The registrar of mortgages was one of the most amiable 
men in the town. There were but two things against him— 
he had married an old woman for her money in the first place, 
and in the second it was his habit to perpetrate outrageous 
puns, at which he was the first to laugh. But, doubtless, the 
stomachs of the guests were growing impatient, for at first 
sight he was hailed with that faint sigh which usually wel- 


THH JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 75 


comes last comers under such circumstances. Pending’ the 
official announcement of dinner, the company strolled up and 
down the terrace by the Brillante, looking out over the stream 
with its bed of mosaic and its water-plants, at the so pictur- 
esque details of the row of houses huddled together on the 
opposite bank; the old-fashioned wooden balconies, the 
tumble-down window sills, the balks of timber that shored 
up a story projecting over the river, the cabinet-maker’s work- 
shop, the tiny gardens where odds and ends of clothing were 
hanging out to dry. It was, in short, the poor quarter of a 
country town, to which the near neighborhood of the water, 
a weeping willow drooping over the bank, a rosebush or so, 
and a few flowers, had lent an indescribable charm, worthy of 
a landscape painter’s brush. 

The Chevalier meanwhile was narrowly watching the faces 
of the guests. He knew that his firebrand had very success- 
fully taken hold of the best coteries in the town; but no one 
spoke openly of Suzanne and du Bousquier and the great news 
as yet. The art of distilling scandal is possessed by pro- 
vincials in a supreme degree. It was felt that the time was 
not yet ripe for open discussion of the strange event. Every 
one was bound to go through a private rehearsal first. So it 
was whispered : 

“Have you heard ?” 

ReViag ?7 

“Du Bousquier ?” 

“And the fair Suzanne.” 

“Does Mlle. Cormon know anything ?” 

Noi? 

«Ah 2 

This was gossip piano, presently destined to swell into a 
crescendo when they were ready to discuss the first dish of 
scandal. 

All of a sudden the Chevalier confronted Mme. Granson. 
That lady had sported her green bonnet, trimmed with au- 
riculas; her face was beaming. Was she simply longing to 
begin the concert? Such news is as good as a gold-mine to be 


4G THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


worked in the monotonous lives of these people; but the ob- 
servant and uneasy Chevalier fancied that he read something 
more in the good lady’s expression—to wit, the exultation of 
self-interest! At once he turned to look at Athanase, and 
detected in his silence the signs of profound concentration of 
some kind. In another moment the young man’s glance at 
Mlle. Cormon’s figure, which sufficiently resembled a pair of 
regimental kettledrums, shot a sudden light across the Cheva- 
lier’s brain. By that gleam he could read the whole past. 

“Head!” he said to himself, “what a slap in the face I have 
laid myself out to get!” 

He went across to offer his arm to Mlle. Cormon, so that he 
might afterwards take her in to dinner. She regarded the 
Chevalier with respectful esteem; for, in truth, with his name 
and position in the aristocratic constellations of the province, 
he was one of the most brilliant ornaments of her salon. In 
her heart of hearts, she had longed to be Mme. de Valois at 
any time during the past twelve years. The name was like a 
branch for the swarming thoughts of her brain to cling about 
—he fulfilled all her ideals as to the birth, quality, and ex- 
ternals of an eligible man. But while the Chevalier de Valois 
was the choice of heart and brain and social ambition, the 
elderly ruin, curled though he was like a St. John of a proces- 
sion-day, filled Mlle. Cormon with dismay; the heiress saw 
nothing but the noble; the woman could not think of him as 
a husband. ‘The Chevalier’s affectation of indifference to mar- 
riage, and still more his unimpeachable character in a house- 
ful of work-girls, had seriously injured him, contrary to his 
own expectations. The man of quality, so clear-sighted in the 
matter of the annuity, miscalculated on this subject; and 
Mlle. Cormon herself was not aware that her private reflec- 
tions upon the too well-conducted Chevalier might have been 
translated by the remark, “What a pity that he is not a little 
bit of a rake!” 

Students of human nature have remarked these leanings of 
the saint towards the sinner, and wondered at a taste so little 
in accordance, as they imagine, with Christian virtue. But, to 








THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN TT 


go no further, what nobler destiny for a virtuous woman than 
the task of cleansing, after the manner of charcoal, the turbid 
waters of vice? How is it that nobody has seen that these 
generous creatures, confined by their principles to strict con- 
Jugal fidelity, must naturally desire a mate of great practical 
experience? A reformed rake makes the best husband. And 
so it came to pass that the poor spinster must sigh over the 
chosen vessel, offered her as it were in two pieces. Heaven 
alone could weld the Chevalier de Valois and du Bousquier 
in one. 

If the significance of the few words exchanged between the 
Chevalier and Mlle. Cormon is to be properly understood, it is 
necessary to put other matters before the reader. ‘Two very 
serious questions were dividing Alencon into two camps, and, 
moreover, du Bousquier was mixed up in both affairs in some 
mysterious way. ‘The first of these debates concerned the curé. 
He had taken the oath of allegiance in the time of the Revolu- 
tion, and now was living down orthodox prejudices by setting 
an example of the loftiest goodness. He was a Cheverus on a 
smaller scale, and so much was he appreciated, that when he 
died the whole town wept for him. Mlle. Cormon and the 
Abbé de Sponde belonged, however, to the minority, to the 
Church sublime in its orthodoxy, a section which was to the 
Court of Rome as the Ultras were shortly to be to the Court 
of Louis XVIII. The Abbé, in particular, declined to recog- 
nize the Church that had submitted to force and made terms 
with the Constitutionnels. So the curé was never seen in the 
salon of the Maison Cormon, and the sympathies of its fre- 
quenters were with the officiating priest of St. Leonard’s, the 
aristocratic church in Alencon. Du Bousquier, that rabid Lib- 
eral under a Royalist’s skin, knew how necessary it is to find 
standards to rally the discontented, who form, as it were, the 
back-shop of every opposition, and therefore he had already 
enlisted the sympathies of the trading classes for the curé. 

Now for the second affair. The same blunt diplomatist was 
the secret instigator of a scheme for building a theatre, an 
idea which had only lately sprouted in Alengon. Du Bous- 


% 


78 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


quier’s zealots knew not their Mahomet, but they were more 
ardent in their defence of what they believed to be their own 
plan. Athanase was one of the very hottest of the partisans 
in favor of the theatre; in the mayor’s office for several days 
past he had been pleading for the cause which all the younger 
men had taken up. 

To return to the Chevalier. He offered his arm to Mlle. 
Cormon, who thanked him with a radiant glance for this at- 
tention. For all answer, the Chevalier indicated Athanase by 
a meaning look. 

“Mademoiselle,” he began, “as you have such well-balanced 
judgment in matters of social convention, and as that young 
man is related to you in some way of 

“Very distantly,” she broke in. 

“Ought you not to use the influence which you possess with 
him and his mother to prevent him from going utterly to the 
bad? He is not very religious as it is; he defends that per- 
jured priest; but that is nothing. It is a much more serious 
matter ; is he not plunging thoughtlessly into opposition with- 
out realizing how his conduct may affect his prospects? He 
is scheming to build this theatre; he is the dupe of that Re- 
publican in disguise, du Bousquier-——” 

“Dear me, M. de Valois, his mother tells me that he is so 
clever, and he has not a word to say for himself; he always 
stands planted before you like a statute——” 

“Of limitations,” cried the registrar. “I caught that fly- 
ing.—I present my devoars to the Chevalier de Valois,” he 
added, saluting’ the latter with the exaggeration of Henri 
Monnier as “Joseph Prudhomme,” an admirable type of the 
class to which M. du Coudrai belonged. 

M. de Valois, in return, gave him the abbreviated patroniz- 
ing nod of a noble standing on his dignity; then he drew Mlle. 
Cormon further along the terrace by the distance of several 
flower-pots, to make the registrar understand that he did not 
wish to be overheard. 

Then, lowering his voice, he bent to say in Mlle. Cormon’s 
ear: “How can you expect that lads educated in these de- 





THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 79 


testable Imperial Lyceums should have any ideas? Great 
ideas and a lofty love can only come of right courses and 
nobleness of life. It is not difficult to foresee, from the look 
of the poor fellow, that he will be weak in his intellect and 
come to a miserable end. See how pale and haggard he 
looks !” 

“His mother says that he works far too hard,” she replied 
innocently. “He spends his nights, think of it! in reading 
books and writing. What good can it possibly do a young 
man’s prospects to sit up writing at night ?” 

“Why, it exhausts him,” said the Chevalier, trying to bring 
the lady’s thoughts back to the point, which was to disgust 
her with Athanase. “The things that went on in those Im- 
perial Lyceums were something really shocking.” 

“Oh yes,” said the simple lady. “Did they not make them 
walk out with drums in front? The masters had no more 
religion than heathens; and they put them in uniform, poor 
boys, exactly as if they had been soldiers. What notions!” 

“And see what comes of it,” continued the Chevalier, indi- 
eating Athanase. “In my time, where was the young man 
that could not look a pretty woman in the face? Now, he 
lowers his eyes as soon as he sees you. That young man 
alarms me, because I am interested in him. Tell him not to 
intrigue with Bonapartists, as he is doing, to build this 
theatre ; if these little youngsters do not raise an insurrection 
and demand it (for insurrection and constitution, to my mind, 
are two words for the same thing), the authorities will build 
it. And tell his mother to look after him.” 

“Oh, she will not allow him to see these half-pay people or 
to keep low company, I am sure. I will speak to him about 
it,” said Mlle. Cormon; “he might lose his situation at the 
mayor’s office. And then what would they do, he and his 
mother? It makes you shudder.” 

As M. de Talleyrand said of his wife, so said the Cheva- 
lier within himself at that moment, as he looked at the lady: 

“Tf there is a stupider woman, I should like to see her. On 
the honor of a gentleman, if virtue makes a woman so stupid 


80 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


as this, is it not a vice? And yet, what an adorable wife she 
would make for a man of my age! What principle! What 
ignorance of life!” 

Please to bear in mind that these remarks were addressed 
to the Princess Goritza during the manipulation of a pinch 
of snuff. 

‘Mme. Granson felt instinctively that the Chevalier was 
talking of Athanase. In her eagerness to know what he had 
been saying, she followed Mlle. Cormon, who walked up to 
the young man in question, putting out six feet of dignity in 
front; but at that very moment Jacquelin announced that 
“Mademoiselle was served,” and the mistress of the house shot 
an appealing glance at the Chevalier. But the gallant reg- 
istrar of mortgages was beginning to see a something in M. de 
Valois’ manner, a glimpse of the barrier which the noblesse 
were about to raise between themselves and the bourgeoisie ; 
so, delighted with a chance to cut out the Chevalier, he crooked 
his arm, and Mlle. Cormon was obliged to take it. M. de 
Valois, from motives of policy, fastened upon Mme. Granson. 

“Mlle. Cormon takes the liveliest interest in your dear 
Athanase, my dear lady,” he said, as they slowly followed in 
the wake of the other guests, “but that interest is falling off 
through your son’s fault. He is lax and Liberal in his opin- 
ions; he is agitating for this theatre; he is mixed up with the 
Bonapartists; he takes the part of the Constitutionnel curé. 
This line of conduct may cost him his situation. You know 
how carefully his Majesty’s government is weeding the service. 
If your dear’ Athanase is once cashiered, where will he find 
employment? He must not get into bad odor with the author- 
ities.” 

“Oh, M. le Chevalier,” cried the poor startled mother, “what 
do I not owe you for telling me this! You are right; my boy 
is a tool in the hands of a bad set; I will open his eyes to his 
position.” 

It was long since the Chevalier had sounded Athanase’s 
character at a glance. He saw in the depths of the young 
man’s nature the scarcely malleable material of Republican 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 81 


convictions ; a lad at that age will sacrifice everything for such 
ideas if he is smitten with the word Liberty, that so vague, so 
little comprehended word which is like a standard of revolt 
for those at the bottom of the wheel for whom revolt means 
revenge. Athanase was sure to stick to his opinions, for he 
had woven them, with his artist’s sorrows and his embittered 
views of the social framework, into his political creed. He 
was ready to sacrifice his future at the outset for these 
opinions, not knowing that he, like all men of real ability, 
would have seen reason to modify them by the time he reached 
the age of six-and-thirty, when a man has formed his own 
conclusions of life, with its intricate relations and interde- 
pendences. If Athanase was faithful to the opposition in 
Alengon, he would fall into disgrace with Mlle. Cormon. Thus. 
far the Chevalier saw clearly. 

And so this little town, so peaceful in appearance, was to the 
full as much agitated internally as any congress of diplomates, 
when craft and guile and passion and self-interest are met 
to discuss the weightiest questions between empire and em- 
pire. 

Meanwhile the guests gathered about the table were eating 
their way through the first course as people eat in the prov- 
inces, without a blush for an honest appetite; whereas, in 
Paris, it would appear that our jaws are controlled by sump- 
tuary edicts which deliberately set the laws of anatomy at de- 
fiance. We eat with the tips of our teeth in Paris, we filch the 
pleasures of the table, but in the previnces things are taken 
more naturally; possibly existence centres a little too much 
about the great and universal method of maintenance to which 
God condemns all his creatures. It was at the end of the first 
course that Mlle. Cormon brought out the most celebrated of 
all her conversational cues; it was talked of for two years 
afterwards; it is quoted even now, indeed, in the sub-bour- 
geois strata of Alencon whenever her marriage is under dis- 
cussion. Over the last entrée but one, the conversation waxed 
lively and wordy, turning, as might have been expected, upon 
the affair of the theatre and the curé. In the first enthusiasm 


82 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


of Royalism in 1816, those extremists, who were afterwards 
called les Jésuites du pays, were for expelling the Abbé 
Francois from his cure. M. de Valois suspected du Bousquier 
of supporting the priest and instigating the intrigues; at any 
rate, the noble Chevalier piled the burdens on du Bousquier’s 
back with his wonted skill; and du Bousquier, being unrepre- 
sented by counsel, was condemned and put in the pillory. 
Among those present, Athanase was the only person sufficient- 
ly frank to stand up for the absent, and he felt that he was not 
in a position to bring out his ideas before these Alengon mag- 
nates, of whose intellects he had the meanest opinion. Only 
in the provinces nowadays will you find young men keeping 
a respectful countenance before people of a certain age with- 
out daring to have a fling at their elders or to contradict them 
too flatly. To resume. On the advent of some delicious canards 
aux olives, the conversation first decidedly flagged, and then 
suddenly dropped dead. Mlle. Cormon, emulous of her own 
poultry, invented another canard in her anxiety to defend du 
Bousquier, who had been represented as an arch-concocter of 
intrigue, and a man to set mountains fighting. 

“For my own part,” said she, “I thought that M. du Bous- 
quier gave his whole attention to childish matters.” 

Under the circumstances, the epigram produced a tre- 
mendous effect. Mlle. Cormon had a great success; she 
brought the Princess Goritza face downwards on the table. 
The Chevalier, by no means expecting his Dulcinea to say 
anything so much to the purpose, could find no words to ex- 
press his admiration; he applauded after the Italian fashion, 
noiselessly, with the tips of his fingers. 

“She is adorably witty,” he said, turning to Mme. Granson. 
“T have always said that she would unmask her batteries some 
day.” 

“But when you know her very well, she is charming,” said 
the widow. 

“All women, madame, have esprit when you know them 
well.” 

When the Homeric laughter subsided, Mlle. Cormon asked 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 83 


for an explanation of her success. Then the chorus of scandal 
grew toa height. Du Bousquier was transformed into a bach- 
elor Pére Gigogne; it was he who filled the Foundling Hos- 
pital; the immorality of his life was laid bare at last; it was 
all of a piece with his Paris orgies, and so forth and so forth. 
Led by the Chevalier de Valois, the cleverest of conductors 
of this kind of orchestra, the overture was something mag- 
nificent. 

“T do not know,” said he, with much indulgence, “what 
there could possibly be to prevent a du Bousquier from mar- 
rying a Mademoiselle Suzanne whatever-it-is—what do you 
eall her?—Suzette! I only know the children by sight, though 
I lodge with Mme. Lardot. If this Suzon is a tall, fine-look- 
ing forward sort of girl with gray eyes, a slender figure, and 
little feet—I have not paid much attention to these things, 
but she seemed to me to be very insolent and very much 
du Bousquier’s superior in the matter of manners. Besides, 
Suzanne has the nobility of beauty; from that point of view, 
she would certainly make a marriage beneath her. The Em- 
peror Joseph, you know, had the curiosity to go to see the du 
Barry at Luciennes. He offered her his arm; and when the 
poor courtesan, overcome by such an honor, hesitated to take 
it, ‘Beauty is always a queen,’ said the Emperor. Remark that 
the Emperor Joseph was an Austrian German,” added the 
Chevalier; “but, believe me, that Germany, which we think 
of as a very boorish country, is really a land of noble chivalry 
and fine manners, especially towards Poland and Hungary, 
where there are-———’” Here the Chevalier broke off, fearing 
to make an allusion to his own happy fortune in the past; 
he only took up his snuff-box and confided the rest to the 
Princess, who had smiled on him for thirty-six years. 

“The speech was delicately considerate for Louis XV.,” said 
du Ronceret. | 

“But we are talking of the Emperor Joseph, I believe,” re- 
turned Mlle. Cormon, with a little knowing air. 

“Mademoiselle,” said the Chevalier, seeing the wicked 
glances exchanged by the President, the registrar, and the 


g 


84 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


notary, “Mme. du Barry was Louis Quinze’s Suzanne, a fact 
known well enough to us scapegraces, but which young ladies 
are not expected to know. Your ignorance shows that the 
diamond is flawless. ite corruptions of history have not so 
much as touched you.” 

At this the Abbé de Sponde looked graciously upon M. de 
Valois and bent his head in laudatory Ten 

“Do you not know history, mademoiselle,” asked the regis- 
trar. : 
“Tf you muddle up Louis XV. and Suzanne, how can you 
expect me to know your history?” was Mlle. Cormon’s angelic 
reply. She was so pleased! The dish was empty and the con- 
versation revived to such purpose that everybody was laughing 
with their mouths full at her last observation. 

“Poor young thing!” said the Abbé de Sponde. “When 
once trouble comes, that love grown divine called charity is as 
blind as the pagan love, and should see nothing of the causes 
of the trouble. You are President of the Maternity Society, 
Rose; this child will need help; it will not be easy for her to 
find a husband.” 

“Poor child!” said Mlle. Cormon. 

“Is du Bousquier going to marry her, do you suppose?” 
asked the President of the Tribunal. 

“It would be his duty to do so if he were a decent man,” 
said Mme. Granson; “but, really, my dog has better notions 
of decency rf 

“And yet Azor is a great forager,” put in the registrar, 
trying a joke this time as a change from a pun. 

They were still talking of du Bousquier over the dessert. 
He was the butt of uncounted playful jests, which grew more 
and more thunder-charged under the influence of wine. Led 
off by the registrar, they followed up one pun with another. 
Du Bousquier’s character was now ap-parent; he was not a 
father of the church, nor a reverend father, nor yet a con- 
script father, and so on and so on, till the Abbé de Sponde 
said, “In any case, he is not a foster father, ” with a gravity 
that checked the laughter. 





THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 85 


“Nor a heavy father,” added the Chevalier. 

The Church and the aristocracy had descended into the 
arena of word-play without loss of dignity. 

“Hush!” said the registrar, “I can hear du Bousquier’s 
boots creaking; he is in over shoes over boots, and no mis- 
take.” 

It nearly always happens that when a man’s name is in 
every one’s mouth, he is the last to hear what is said of him; 
the whole town may be talking of him, slandering him or cry- 
ing him down, and if he has no friends to repeat what other 
people say of him, he is not likely to hear it. So the blame- 
less du Bousquier, du Bousquier who would fain have been 
guilty, who wished that Suzanne had not lied to him, was 
supremely unconscious of all that was taking place. Nobody 
had spoken to him of Suzanne’s revelations; for that matter, 
everybody thought it indiscreet to ask questions about the 
affair, when the man most concerned sometimes possesses sc- 
crets which compel him to keep silence. So when people ad- 
journed for coffee to the drawing-room, where several evening 
visitors were already assembled, du Bousquier wore an irre- 
sistible and slightly fatuous air. 

Mlle. Cormon, counseled by confusion, dared not look 
towards the terrible seducer. She took possession of Atha- 
nase and administered a lecture, bringing out the oddest as- 
sortment of the commonplaces of Royalist doctrines and edify- 
ing truisms. As the unlucky poet had no snuff-box with a por- 
trait of a princess on the lid to sustain him under the shower- 
bath of foolish utterances, it was with a vacant expression that 
he heard his adored lady. His eyes were fixed on that enor- 
mous bust, which maintained the absolute repose character- 
istic of great masses. Desire wrought a kind of intoxication 
in him. The old maid’s thin, shrill voice became low music 
for his ears; her platitudes were fraught with ideas. 

Love is an utterer of false coin; he is always at work trans- 
forming common copper into gold louis; sometimes, also, he 
makes his seeming halfpence of fine gold. 

“Well, Athanase, will you promise me?” 


&6 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


The final phrase struck on the young man’s ear; he woke 
with a\start from a blissful dream. 

“What, mademoiselle?” returned he. 

Mlle. Cormon rose abruptly and glanced across at du Bous- 
quier. At that moment he looked like the brawny fabulous 
deity whose likeness you behold upon Republican three-frane 
pieces. She went over to Mme. Granson and said in a confi- - 
dential tone: 

“Your son is weak in his intellect, my poor friend. That 
lyceum has been the ruin of him,” she added, recollecting how 
the Chevalier de Valois had insisted on the bad education 
given in those institutions. 

Here was a thunderbolt! Poor Athanase had had his 
chance of flinging fire upon the dried stems heaped up in the 
old maid’s heart, and he had not known it! If he had but 
listened to her, he might have made her understand; for in 
Mule. Cormon’s present highly-wrought mood a word would 
have been enough, but the very force of the stupefying crav- 
ings of love-sick youth had spoiled his chances ; so sometimes a 
child full of life kills himself through ignorance. 

“What can you have been saying to Mlle. Cormon?” asked 
his mother. 

“Nothing.” 

“Nothing ?—I will have this cleared up,” she said, and 
put off serious business to the morrow; du Bousquier was 
hopelessly lost, she thought, and the speech troubled her very 
little. 

Soon the four card-tables received their complement of 
players. Four persons sat down to piquet, the most expensive 
amusement of the evening, over which a good deal of money 
changed hands. M. Choisnel, the attorney for the crown, and 
a couple of ladies went to the red-lacquered cabinet for a game 
of tric-trac. The candles in the wall-sconces were lighted, 
and then the flower of Mlle. Cormon’s set blossomed out about 
the fire, on the settees, and about the tables. Hach new couple, 
on entering the room, made the same remark to Mlle. Cormon, 
“So you are going to the Prébaudet to-morrow ?” 


THB JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 87 


“Yes, I really must,” she said, in answer to each. 

All through the evening the hostess wore a preoccupied air. 
Mme. Granson was the first to see that she was not at all like 
herself. Mlle. Cormon was thinking. 

“What are you thinking about, cousin?’ Mme. Gran- 
son asked at last, finding her sitting in the boudoir. 

“T am thinking of that poor girl. Am I not patroness of 
the Maternity Society? I will go now to find ten crowns for 
you.” 

“Ten crowns!” exclaimed Mme. Granson. “Why, you have 
never given so much to any one before!’ 

“But, my dear, it is so natural to have a child.” 

This improper cry from the heart struck the treasurer of 
the Maternity Society dumb from sheer astonishment. Du 
Bousquier had actually gone up in Mlle. Cormon’s opinion ! 

“Really,” began Mme. Granson, “du Bousquier is not 
merely a monster—he is a villain into the bargain. When a 
man has spoiled somebody else’s life, it is his duty surely to 
make amends. It should be his part rather than ours to res- 
cue this young person; and when all comes to all, she is a 
bad girl, it seems to me, for there are better men in Alengon 
than that cynic of a du Bousquier. A girl must be shameless 
indeed to have anything to do with him.” 

“Cynic? Your son, dear, teaches you Latin words that are 
quite beyond me. Certainly I do not want to make excuses 
for M. du Bousquier; but explain to me why it is immoral 
for a woman to prefer one man to another ?” 

“Dear cousin, suppose now that you were to marry my 
Athanase; there would be nothing but what was very natural 
in that. He is young and good-looking ; he has a future before 
him; Alencon will be proud of him some day. But—every 
one would think that you took such a young man as your 
husband for the sake of greater conjugal felicity. Slanderous 
tongues would say that you were making a sufficient provision 
of bliss for yourself. There would be jealous women to bring 
charges of depravity against you. But what would it matter 
to you? You would be dearly loved—loved sincerely. If 


& 


88 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


Athanase seemed to you to be weak of intellect, my dear, it is 
because he has too many ideas. Extremes meet. He is as clean 
in his life as a girl of fifteen; he has not wallowed in the pol- 
lutions of Paris. . . . Well, now, change the terms, as 
my poor husband used to say. It is relatively just the same 
situation as du Bousquier’s and Suzanne’s. But what would 
be slander in your case is true in every way of du Bousquier. 
Now do you understand ?” 

“No more than if you were talking Greek,’ said Rose 
Cormon, opening wide eyes and exerting all the powers of her 
understanding. 

“Well, then, cousin, since one must put dots on all the 2’s, 
it is quite out of the question that Suzanne should love du 
Bousquier. And when the heart counts for nothing in such 
an affair sf 

“Why, really, cousin, how should people love if not with 
their hearts ?” 

At this Mme. Granson thought within herself, as the Cheva- 
lier had thought : 

“The poor cousin is too innocent by far. This goes beyond 
the permissible ” Aloud she said, “Dear girl, it seems to 
me that a child is not conceived of spirit alone.” 

“Why, yes, dear, for the Holy Virgin % 

“But, my dear, good girl, du Bousquier is not the Holy 
Ghost.” 

“That is true,” returned the spinster ; “he is a man—a man 
dangerous enough for his friends to recommend him strongly 
to marry.” 














“You, cousin, might bring that about df 
“Oh, how?” cried the spinster, with a glow of Christian 
charity. 


“Decline to receive him until he takes a wife. For the sake 
of religion and morality, you ought to make an example of 
him under the circumstances.” 

“We will talk of this again, dear Mme. Granson, when I 
come back from the Prébaudet. I will ask advice of my uncle 
and the Abbé Couturier,” and Mlle. Cormon went back to 


THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 89 


the large drawing-room. The liveliest hour of the evening 
had begun. 

The lights, the groups of well-dressed women, the serious 
and magisterial air of the assembly, filled Mlle. Cormon with 
pride in the aristocratic appearance of the rooms, a pride in 
which her guests all shared. There were plenty of people who 
thought that the finest company of Paris itself was no finer. 
At that moment du Bousquier, playing a rubber with M. de 
Valois and two elderly ladies, Mme. du Coudrai and Mme. du 
Ronceret, was the object of suppressed curiosity. Several 
women came up on the pretext of watching the game, and 
gave him such odd, albeit furtive, glances that the old bach- 
elor at last began to think that there must be something amiss 
with his appearance. 

“Can it be that my toupet is askew?” he asked himself. 
And he felt that all-absorbing uneasiness to which the elderly 
bachelor is peculiarly subject. A blunder gave him an excuse 
for leaving the table at the end of the seventh rubber. 

“T cannot touch a card but I lose,” he said ; “I am decidedly 
too unlucky at cards.” 

“You are lucky in other respects,” said the Chevalier, with 
a knowing look. Naturally, the joke made the round of the 
room, and every one exclaimed over the exquisite breeding 
shown by the Prince Talleyrand of Alengon. 

“There is no one like M. de Valois for saying such things,” 
said the niece of the curé of St. Leonard’s. 

Du Bousquier went up to the narrow mirror above “The 
Deserter,” but he could detect nothing unusual. 

Towards ten o’clock, after innumerable repetitions of the 
same phrase with every possible variation, the long ante- 
chamber began to fill with visitors preparing to embark ; Mlle. 
Cormon convoying a few favored guests as far as the perron 
for a farewell embrace. Knots of guests.took their departure, 
some in the direction of the Brittany road and the chateau, 
and others turning toward the quarter by the Sarthe. And 
then began the exchange of remarks with which the streets 
had echoed at the same hour for a score of years. There was 
the inevitable, “Mlle. Cormon looked very well this evening.” 


\ 


30 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


“Mlle. Cormon? She looked strange, I thought.” | 
“How the Abbé stoops, poor man! And how he goes to. 
sleep—did you see? He never knows where the cards are 
now; his mind wanders.” 
“We shall be very sorry to lose him.” 
“Tt is a fine night. We shall have a fine day to-morrow.” — 
“Fine weather for the apples to set.” 
“You beat us to-night; you always do when M. de Valois 
your partner.” | 
“Then how much did he win?” 
“To-night? Why, he won three or four francs. He never 
loses.” 

“Faith, no. There are three hundred and sixty-five days in 
the year, you know; at that rate, whist is as good as a farm) 
for him.” 

“Oh! what bad luck we had to-night!” 

“You are very fortunate, monsieur and madame, here you 
are at your own doorstep, while we have half the town to 
cross.” 

“T do not pity you; you could keep a carriage if you liked, 
you need not go afoot.” 

“Ah! monsieur, we have a daughter to marry (that means 
one wheel), and a son to keep in Paris, and that takes the 
other.” 

“Are you still determined to make a magistrate of him ?” 

“What can one do? You must do something with a boy,, 
and besides, it is no disgrace to serve the King.” 

Sometimes a discussion on cider or flax was continued on 
the way, the very same things being said at the same season 
year after year. If any observer of human nature had lived 
in that particular street, their conversation would have sup- 
plied him with an almanac. At this moment, however, the 
talk was of a decidedly Rabelaisian turn; for du Bousquier, 
walking on ahead by himself, was humming the well-known 
tune “Femme sensible, entends-tu le ramage?” without a sus- 
picion of its appropriateness. Some of the party held that du 
Bousquier was uncommonly long-headed, and that people 


i 


™M 


THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 91 


judged him unjustly. President du Ronceret inclined towards 
this view since he had been confirmed in his post by a new 
royal decree. The rest regarded the forage-contractor as a 
dangerous man of lax morals, of whom anything might be ex- 
pected. In the provinces, as in Paris, public men are very 
much in the position of the statue in Addison’s ingenious 
fable. The statue was erected at a place where four roads 
met; two cavaliers coming up on opposite sides declared, the 
one that it was white, the other that it was black, until they 
came to blows, and both of them lying on the ground discov- 
ered that it was black on one side and white on the other, 
while a third cavalier coming up to their assistance affirmed 
that it was red. 

When the Chevalier de Valois reached home, he said to 
himself: “It is time to spread a report that I am going to 
marry Mlle. Cormon. The news shall come from the d’Es- 
grignon’s salon; it shall go straight to the Bishop’s palace at 
Séez and come back through one of the vicars-general to the 
euré of St. Leonard’s. He will not fail to tell the Abbé 
Couturier, and in this way Mlle. Cormon will receive the shot 
well under the water-line. The old Marquis d’Esgrignon is 
sure to ask the Abbé de Sponde to dinner to put a stop to gos- 
sip which might injure Mlle. Cormon if I fail to come for- 
ward; or me, if she refuses me. The Abbé shall be well and 
duly entangled; and after a call from Mlle. de Gordes, in 
the course of which the grandeur and the prospects of the alli- 
ance will be put before Mlle. Cormon, she is not likely to hold 
out. The Abbé will leave her more than a hundred thousand 
crowns; and as for her, she must have put by more than a 
hundred thousand livres by this time; she has her house, the 
Prébaudet, and some fifteen thousand livres per annum. One 
word to my friend the Comte de Fontaine, and I am Mayor 
of Alencon, and deputy; then, once seated on the right-hand 
benches, the way to a peerage is cleared by a well-timed cry 
of ‘Cloture, or ‘Order.’ ” 

When Mme. Granson reached home, she had a warm ex- 
planation with her son. He could not be made to understand 


92 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


the connection between his political opinions and his love. 
It was the first quarrel which had troubled the peace of the 
poor little household. 


Next morning, at nine o’clock, Mlle. Cormon, packed into 
the cariole with Josette by her side, drove up the Rue Saint- 
Blaise on her way to the Prébaudet, looking like a pyramid 
above an ocean of packages. And the event which was to 
surprise her there and hasten on her marriage was unseen as 
yet by Mme. Granson, or du Bousquier, or M. de Valois, or by 
Mlle. Cormon herself. Chance is the greatest artist of all. 

On the morrow of mademoiselle’s arrival at the Prébaudet, 
she was very harmlessly engaged in taking her eight o’clock 
breakfast, while she listened to the reports of her bailiff and 
gardener, when Jacquelin, in a great flurry, burst into the 
dining-room. 

“Mademoiselle,” cried he, “M. ’ Abbé has sent an express 
messenger to you; that boy of Mother Grosmort’s has come 
with a letter. The lad left Alencgon before daybreak, and yet 
here he is! He came almost as fast as Penelope. Ought he 
to have a glass of wine?” 

“What can have happened, Josette? Can uncle be 

“He would not have written if he was,” said the woman, 
guessing her mistress’ fears. 

Mlle. Cormon glanced over the first few lines. 

“Quick! quick!” she cried. “Tell Jacquelin to put Penel- 
ope in.—Get ready, child, have everything packed in half an 
hour, we are going back to town,’ she added, turning to 
Josette. 

“Jacquelin!” called Josette, excited by the expression of 
Mlle. Cormon’s face. Jacquelin on receiving his orders came 
back to the house to expostulate. 

— “But, mademoiselle, Penelope has only just been fed.” 

“ih! what does that matter to me? I want to start this 
moment.” 

“But, mademoiselle, it is going to rain.” 

“Very well. We shall be wet through.” 


29 


39 





THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 93 


“The house is on fire,” muttered Josette, vexed because her 
mistress said nothing, but read her letter through to the end, 
and then began again at the beginning. 

“Just finish your coffee at any rate. Don’t upset yourself! 
See how red you are in the face.” 

“Red in the face, Josette!” exclaimed Mlle. Cormon, going 
up to the mirror; and as the quick-silvered sheet had come 
away from the glass, she beheld her countenance doubly dis- 
torted. “Oh, dear!” she thought, “I shall look ugly !—Come, 
come, Josette, child, help me to dress. I want to be ready be- 
fore Jacquelin puts Penelope in. If you cannot put all the 
things into the chaise, I would rather leave them here than 
lose a minute.” 

If you have fully comprehended the degree of monomania 
to which Mlle. Cormon had been driven by her desire to marry, 
you will share her excitement. Her worthy uncle informed 
her that M. de Troisville, a retired soldier from the Russian 
service, the grandson of one of his best friends, wishing to 
settle down in Alencon, had asked for his hospitality for the 
sake of the Abbé’s old friendship with the mayor, his grand- 
father, the Vicomte de Troisville of the reign of Louis XY. 
M. de Sponde, in alarm, begged his niece to come home at 
once to help him to entertain the guest and to do the honors 
of the house; for as there had been some delay in forwarding 
the letter, M. de Troisville might be expected to drop in upon 
him that very evening. 

How was it possible after reading that letter to give any 
attention to affairs at the Prébaudet? The tenant and the 
bailiff, beholding their mistress’ dismay, lay low and waited 
for orders. When they stopped her passage to ask for in- 
structions, Mlle. Cormon, the despotic old maid, who’ saw 
to everything herself at the Prébaudet, answered them with an 
“As you please,” which struck them dumb with amazement. 
This was the mistress who carried administrative zeal to such 
lengths that she counted the fruit and entered it under head- 
ings, so that she could regulate the consumption by the quan- 
tity of each sort! 


94 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


“T must be dreaming, I think,” said Josette, when she saw 
her mistress flying upstairs like some elephant on which God 
should have bestowed wings. 

In a little while, in spite of the pelting rain, mademoiselle 
was driving away from the Prébaudet, leaving her people to 
have things all their own way. Jacquelin dared not take it 
upon himself to drive the placid Penelope any faster than her 
usual jog-trot pace; and the old mare, something like the fair 
queen after whom she was named, seemed to take a step back 
for every step forward. Beholding this, mademoiselle bade 
Jacquelin, in a vinegar voice, to urge the poor astonished 
beast to a gallop, and to use the whip if necessary, so ap- 
palling was the thought that M. de Troisville might arrive be- 
fore the house was ready for him. A grandson of an old 
friend of her uncle’s could not be much over forty, she 
thought; a military man must infallibly be a bachelor. She 
vowed inwardly that, with her uncle’s help, M. de Troisville 
should not depart in the estate in which he entered the 
‘Maison Cormon. Penelope galloped; but mademoiselle, 
absorbed in dresses and dreams of a wedding night, toid 
Jacquelin again and again that he was standing still. She 
fidgeted in her seat, without vouchsafing any answer to 
Josette’s questions, and talked to herself as if she were re- 
volving mighty matters in her mind. 

At last the cariole turned into the long street of Alencon, 
known as the Rue Saint-Blaise if you come in on the side 
of Mortagne, the Rue de la Porte de Séez by the time you 
reach the sign of the Three Moors, and lastly as the Rue du 
Bercail, when it finally debouches into the highroad into 
Brittany. If Mlle. Cormon’s departure for the Prébaudet 
made a great noise in Alencon, anybody can imagine the 
hubbub caused by her return on the following day, with the 
driving rain lashing her face. Everybody remarked 
Penelope’s furious pace, Jacquelin’s sly looks, the earliness 
of the hour, the bundles piled up topsy-turvy, the lively con- 
versation between mistress and maid, and, more than all 
things, the impatience of the party. 


THE JHALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 95 


The Troisville estates lay between Alencon and Mortagne. 
Josette, therefore, knew about the different branches of the 
family. A word let fall by her mistress just as they reached 
the pavé of Alencgon put Josette in possession of the facts, 
and a discussion sprang up, in the course of which the two 
women settled between themselves that the expected guest 
must be a man of forty or forty-two, a bachelor, neither rich 
nor poor. Mademoiselle saw herself Vicomtesse de Trois- 
ville. 

“And here is uncle telling me nothing, knowing nothing, 
and wanting to know nothing! Oh,solike uncle! He would 
forget his nose if it was not fastened to his face.” 

Have you not noticed how mature spinsters, under these 
circumstances, grow as intelligent, fierce, bold, and full of 
promises as a Richard III.? To them, as to clerics in liquor, 
nothing is sacred. 

In one moment, from the upper end of the Rue Saint-Blaise 
to the Porte de Séez, the town of Alencon heard of Mlle. 
Cormon’s return with aggravating circumstances, heard with 
a mighty perturbation of its vitals and trouble of the organs 
of life public and domestic. Cook-maids, shopkeepers, and 
passers-by carried the news from door to door; then, without 
delay, it circulated in the upper spheres, and almost simulta- 
neously the words, “Mlle. Cormon has come back,” exploded 
like a bomb in every house. 

Meanwhile Jacquelin climbed down from his wooden bench 
in front, polished by some process unknown to cabinet-makers, 
and with his own hands opened the great gates with the 
rounded tops. They were closed in Mlle. Cormon’s absence 
as a sign of mourning; for when she went away her house 
was shut up, and the faithful took it in turn to show 
hospitality to the Abbé de Sponde. (M. de Valois used to 
pay his debt by an invitation to dine at the Marquis 
d’Esgrignon’s.) Jacquelin gave the familiar call to Penelope 
standing in the middle of the road; and the animal, ac- 
customed to this manceuvre, turned into the courtyard, steer- 
ing clear of the flower-bed, till Jacquelin took the bridle and 


96 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


walked round with the chaise to the steps before the 
door. 

“Mariette!” called Mlle. Cormon. 

“Mademoiselle?” returned Mariette, engaged in shutting 
the gates. 

“Has the gentleman come?” 

“No, mademoiselle.” 

“And is my uncle here?” 

“He is at the church, mademoiselle.” 

Jacquelin and Josette were standing on the lowest step of 
the flight, holding out their hands to steady their mistress’ 
descent from the cariole; she, meanwhile, had hoisted herself 
upon the shaft, and was clutching at the curtains, before 
springing down into their arms. It was two years since 
she had dared to trust herself upon the iron step of double 
strength, secured to the shaft by a fearfully made contriv- 
ance with huge bolts. - 

From the height of the steps, mademoiselle surveyed her 
courtyard with an air of satisfaction. | 

“There, there, Mariette, let the great gate alone and come 
here.” 

“There is something up,” Jacquelin said to Mariette as she 
came past the chaise. 

“Let us see now, child, what is there in the house?” said 
Mlle. Cormon, collapsing on the bench in the long ante- 
chamber as if she were exhausted. 

“Just nothing at all,” replied Mariette, hands on hips. 
“Mademoiselle knows quite well that M. ’Abbé always dines 
out when she is not at home; yesterday I went to bring him 
back from Mlle. Armande’s.” . 

“Then where is he?” 

“M. ?Abbé? He is gone to church; he will not be back 
till three o’clock.” 

“Uncle thinks of nothing! Why couldn’t he have sent 
you to market? Go down now, Mariette, and, without throw- 
ing money away, spare for nothing, get the best, finest, and 
daintiest of everything. Go to the coach office and ask where 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN o7 


people send orders for patés. And I want cray-fish from the 
brooks along the Brillante. What time is it ?” 

“Nine o’clock all but a quarter.” 

“Oh dear, oh dear; don’t lose any time in chattering, 
Mariette. The visitor my uncle is expecting may come at any 
moment; pretty figures we should cut if he comes to break- 
fast.” 

Mariette, turning round, saw Penelope in a lather, and 
gave Jacquelin a glance which said, “Mademoiselle means to 
put her hand on a husband this time.” 

Mlle. Cormon turned to her housemaid. “Now, it is our 
turn, Josette; we must make arrangements for M. de Trois- 
ville to sleep here to-night.” 

How gladly those words were uttered! ‘We must arrange 
for M. de Troisville” (pronounced Tréville) “to sleep here 
to-night!” | How much lay in those few words! Hope 
poured like a flood through the old maid’s soul. 

“Will you put him in the green chamber ?” 

“The Bishop’s room? No,” said mademoiselle, “it is too 
near mine. It is very well for his Lordship, a holy man.” 

“Give him your uncle’s room.” 

“It looks so bare; it would not do.” 

“Lord, mademoiselle, you could have a bed put up in the 
boudoir in a brace of shakes; there is a fireplace there. 
Moreau will be sure to find a bedstead in his warehouse that 
will match the hangings as nearly as possible.” 

“You are right, Josette. Very well; run round to Moreau’s 
and ask his advice about everything necessary ; I give you 
authority. If the bed, M. de Troisville’s bed, can be set up by 
this evening, so that M. de Troisville shall notice nothing, 
supposing that M. de Troisville should happen to come in 
while Moreau is here, I am quite willing. If Moreau can- 
not promise that, M. de Troisville shall sleep in the green 
chamber, although M. de Troisville will be very near me.” 

Josette departed ; her mistress called her back. 

“Tell Jacquelin all about it,” she exclaimed in a stern and 
awful voice; “let him go to Moreau. How about my dress? 


98 THE JHALOUSIHS OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


Suppose M. de Troisville came and caught me like this, with- 
out uncle here to receive him!—Oh, uncle! uncle!—Come 
Josette, you shall help me to dress.” 

“But how about Penelope?” the woman began imprudently. 
Mlle. Cormon’s eyes shot sparks for the first and last time in 
her life. 

“It is always Penelope! Penelope this, Penelope that! 
Is Penelope mistress here?” 

“She is all of a lather, and she has not been fed.” 

“Eh! and if she dies, let her die! ” eried Mile. Cormon 
—‘“so long as I am married,” she added in her own mind. 

Josette stood stockstill a moment in amazement, such a 
remark was tantamount to murder; then, at a sign from her 
mistress, she dashed headlong down the steps into the yard. 

“Mademoiselle is possessed, Jacquelin !” were Josette’s first 
words. 

And in this way, everything that occurred throughout the 
day led up to the great climax which was to change the whole 
course of Mlle. Cormon’s life. The town was already turned 
upside down by five aggravating circumstances which at- 
tended the lady’s sudden return, to wit—the pouring rain; 
Penelope’s panting pace and sunk flanks covered with foam ; 
the earliness of the hour; the untidy bundles; and the 
spinster’s strange, sacred looks. But when Mariette invaded 
the market to carry off everything that she could lay her 
hands on; when Jacquelin went to inquire for a bedstead of 
the principal upholsterer in the Rue Porte de Séez, close by 
the church; here, indeed, was material on which to build the 
gravest conjecture! ‘The strange event was discussed on the 
Parade and the Promenade; every one was full of it, not ex- 
cepting Mlle. Armande, on whom the Chevalier de Valois hap- 
pened to be calling at the time. 

Only two days ago Alencon had been stirred to its depths 
by occurrences of such capital importance, that worthy 
matrons were still exclaiming that it was like the end of the 
world! And now, this last news was summed up in all houses 
by the inquiry, “What can be happening at the Cormons’ ?” 





THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 99 


The Abbé de Sponde, skilfully questioned when he emerged 
from St. Leonard’s to take a walk with the Abbé Couturier 
along the Parade, made reply in the simplicity of his heart, 
to the effect that he expected a visit from the Vicomte de 
_ Troisville, who had been in the Russian service during the 
Emigration, and now was coming back to settle in Alencon. 
A kind of labial telegraph, at work that afternoon between 
two and five o’clock, informed all the inhabitants of Alencon 
that Mlle. Cormon at last had found herself a husband by 
advertisement. She was going to marry the Vicomte de 
Troisville. Some said that “Moreau was at work on a bed- 
stead already.” In some places the bed was six feet long. 
It was only four feet at Mme. Granson’s house in the Rue du 
Bercail. At President du Ronceret’s, where du Bousquier 
was dining, it dwindled into a sofa. The tradespeople said 
that it cost eleven hundred francs. It was generally thought 
that this was like counting your chickens before they were 
hatched. 

Further away, it was said that the price of carp had gone 
up. Mariette had swooped down upon the market and 
created a general scarcity. Penelope had dropped down at 
the upper end of the Rue Saint-Blaise; the death was calied 
in question at the receiver-general’s; nevertheless at the pre- 
fecture it was known for a fact that the animal fell dead 
just as she turned in at the gate of the Hétel Cormon, so 
swiftly had the old maid come down upon her prey. The 
saddler at the corner of the Rue de Séez, in his anxiety to 
know the truth about Penelope, was hardy enough to call in 
to ask if anything had happened to Mlle. Cormon’s chaise. 
Then from the utmost end of the Rue Saint-Blaise, to the 
furthermost parts of the Rue du Bercail, it was known that, 
thanks to Jacquelin’s care, Penelope, dumb victim of her 
mistress’ intemperate haste, was still alive, but she seemed 
to be in a bad way. 

All along the Brittany road the Vicomte de Troisville was 
a penniless younger son, for the domains of Perche belonged 
to the Marquis of that ilk, a peer of France with two children. 


100 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


The match was a lucky thing for an impoverished émigré; 
as for the Vicomte himself, that was Mlle. Cormon’s affair. 
Altogether the match received the approval of the aristocratic 
section on the Brittany road; Mlle. Cormon could not have 
put her fortune to a better use. 

Among the bourgeoisie, on the other hand, the Vicomte de 
Troisville was a Russian general that had borne arms against 
France. He was bringing back a large fortune made at the 
court of St. Petersburg. He was a “foreigner,” one of the 
“Allies” detested by the Liberals. The Abbé de Sponde had 
manceuvred the match on the sly. Every person who had 
any shadow of a right of entrance to Mlle. Cormon’s drawing- 
room vowed to be there that night. 

While the excitement went through the town, and all but 
put Suzanne out of people’s heads, Mlle. Cormon herself was 
not less excited; she felt as she had never felt before. She 
looked round the drawing-room, the boudoir, the cabinet, the 
dining-room, and a dreadful apprehension seized upon her. 
Some mocking demon seemed to show her the old-fashioned 
splendor in a new light; the beautiful furniture, admired ever 
since she was a child, was suspected, nay, convicted, of being 
out of date. She was shaken, in fact, by the dread that 
catches almost every author by the throat when he begins to 
read his own work aloud to some exigent or jaded critic. Be- 
fore he began, it was perfect in his eyes; now the novel situa- 
tions are stale; the finest periods turned with such secret 
relish are turgid or halting; the metaphors are mixed or 
grotesque ; his sins stare him in the face. Even so, poor Mlle. 
Cormon shivered to think of the smile on M. de Troisville’s 
lips when he looked round that salon, which looked like a 
Bishop’s drawing-room, unchanged for one possessor after 
another. She dreaded his cool survey of the ancient dining- 
room; in short, she was afraid that the picture might look the 
older for the ancient frame. How if all these old things 
should tinge her with their age? The bare thought of it 
made her flesh creep. At that moment she would have given 
one-fourth of her savings for the power of renovating her 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 101 


house at a stroke of a magic wand. Where is the general so 
conceited that he will not shudder on the eve of an action? 
She, poor thing, was between an Austerlitz and a Water- 
loo. 

“Mme. la Vicomtesse de Troisville,” she said to herself, 
“what a fine name! Our estates will pass to a good house, 
at any rate.” 

Her excitement fretted her. It sent a thrill through every 
fibre of every nerve to the least of the ramifications and the 
papille so well wadded with flesh. Hope tingling in her 
veins set all the blood in her body in circulation. She felt 
capable, if need was, of conversing with M. de ‘Trois- 
ville. 

Of the activity with which Josette, Mariette, Jacquelin, 
Moreau, and his assistants set about their work, it is needless 
to speak. Ants rescuing their eggs could not have been busier 
than they. Everything, kept so neat and clean with daily 
care, was starched and ironed, scrubbed, washed, and polished. 
The best china saw the light. Linen damask cloths and 
serviettes docketed A B C D emerged from the depths where 
they lay shrouded in triple wrappings and defended by 
bristling rows of pins. The rarest shelves of that oak-bound 
library were made to give account of their contents; and 
finally, mademoiselle offered up three bottles of liqueurs to 
the coming guest, three bottles bearing the label of the most 
famous distiller of over-sea—Mme. Amphoux, name dear to 
connoisseurs. 

Mile. Cormon was ready for battle, thanks to the devo- 
tion of her lieutenants. The munitions of war, the heavy 
artillery of the kitchen, the batteries of the pantry, the 
victuals, provisions for the attack, and body of reserves, had 
all been brought up in array. Orders were issued to Jacque- 
lin, Mariette, and Josette to wear their best clothes. The 
garden was raked over. Mademoiselle only regretted that 
she could not come to an understanding with the night- 
ingales in the trees, that they might warble their sweetest 
songs for the occasion. At length, at four o’clock, just as 


102 THE JEALOUSINS OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


the Abbé came in, and mademoiselle was beginning to think 
that she had brought out her daintiest linen and china and 
made ready the most exquisite of dinners in vain, the crack 
of a postilion’s whip sounded outside in the Val-Noble. 

“Tt is he!” she thought, and the lash of the whip struck her 
in the heart. 

And indeed, heralded by all this tittle-tattle, a certain post- 
chaise, with a single gentleman inside it, had made such a 
prodigious sensation as it drove down the Rue Saint-Blaise 
and turned into the Rue du Cours, that several small urchins 
and older persons gave chase to the vehicle, and now were 
standing in a group about the gateway of the Hotel Cormon 
to watch the postilion drive in. Jacquelin, feeling that his 
own marriage was in the wind, had also heard the crack of 
the whip, and was out in the yard to throw open the gates. 
The postilion (an acquaintance) was on his mettle, he turned 
the corner to admiration, and came to a stand before the 
flight of steps. And, as you can understand, he did not go 
until Jacquelin had duly and properly made him tipsy. 

The Abbé came out to meet his guest, and in a trice the 
chaise was despoiled of its occupant, robbers in a hurry could 
not have done their work more nimbly; then the chaise was 
put into the coach-house, the great door was closed, and in 
a few minutes there was not a sign of M. de Troisville’s ar- 
rival. Never did two chemicals combine with a greater alac- 
rity than that displayed by the house of Cormon to absorb the 
Vicomte de Troisville. As for mademoiselle, if she had been 
a lizard caught by a shepherd, her heart could not have beat 
faster. She sat heroically in her low chair by the fireside; 
Josette threw open the door, and the Vicomte de Troisville, 
followed by the Abbé de Sponde, appeared before her. 

“This is M. le Vicomte de Troisville, niece, a grandson of 
an old school-fellow of mine.——M. de Troisville, my niece, 
Mile. Cormon.” 

“Dear uncle, how nicely he puts it,” thought Rose Marie 
Victoire. 

The Vicomte de Troisville, to describe him in a few words, 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 103 


was a du Bousquier of noble family. Between the two men 
there was just that difference which separates the gentle- 
man from the ordinary man. If they had been standing side 
by side, even the most furious Radical could not have denied 
the signs of race about the Vicomte. There was all the dis- 
tinction of refinement about his strength, his figure had 
lost nothing of its magnificent dignity. Blue-eyed, 
dark-haired, and olive-skinned, he could not have been more 
than six-and-forty. You might have thought him a hand- 
some Spaniard preserved in Russian ice. His manner, gait, 
and bearing, and everything about him, suggested a diplomate, 
and a diplomate that has seen Europe. He looked like a 
gentleman in his traveling dress. 

M. de Troisville seemed to be tired. The Abbé rose to 
conduct him to his room, and was overcome with astonishment 
when Rose opened the door of the boudoir, now transformed 
into a bedroom. Then uncle and niece left the noble visitor 
leisure to attend to his toilet with the help of Jacquelin, who 
brought him all the luggage which he needed. While M. de 
Troisville was dressing, they walked on the terrace by the 
Brillante. The Abbé, by a strange chance, was more absent- 
minded than usual, and Mlle. Cormon no less preoccupied, so 
they paced to and fro in silence. Never in her life had Mlle. 
Cormon seen so attractive a man as this Olympian Vicomte. 
She could not say to herself, like a German girl, “I have found 
my Ideal!” but she felt that she was in love from head to 
foot. “The very thing for me,” she thought. On a sudden 
she fled to Mariette, to know whether dinner could be put 
back a little without serious injury. 

“Uncle, this M. de Troisville is very pleasant,” she said 
when she came back again. 

“Why, my girl, he has not said a word as yet,” returned 
the Abbé, laughing. 

“But one can tell by his general appearance. Is he a 
bachelor ?” 

“T know nothing about it,” replied her uncle, his thoughts 
full of that afternoon’s discussion with the Abbé Couturier 


104 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


on Divine Grace. “M. de Troisville said in his letter that 
he wanted to buy a house here—If he were married, he 
would not have come alone,” he added carelessly. It never en- 
tered his head that his niece could think of marriage for her- 
self. 

“Ts he rich ?” 

“He is the younger son of a younger branch. His grand- 
father held a major’s commission, but this young man’s 
father made a foolish marriage.” 

“Young man!” repeated his niece. “Why, he is quite five- 
and-forty, uncle, it seems to me.” She felt an uncontrol- 
lable desire to compare his age with hers. 

“Yes,” said the Abbé. “But to a poor priest at seventy a 
man of forty seems young, Rose.” 

By this time all Alencon knew that M. le Vicomte de Trois- 
ville had arrived at the Hétel Cormon. 

The visitor very soon rejoined his host and hostess, and be- 
gan to admire the view of the Brillante, the garden, and the 
house. 

“Monsieur Abbé,” he said, “to find such a place as this 
would be the height of my ambition.” . 

The old maid wished to read a declaration in the speech. 
She lowered her eyes. 

“You must be very fond of it, mademoiselle,’ continued 
the Vicomte. 

“How could I help being fond of it? It has been in our 
family since 1574, when one of our ancestors, an Intendant 
of the Duchy of Alencgon, bought the ground and built the 
house. It is laid on piles.” 

Jacquelin having announced that dinner was ready, M. de 
Troisville offered his arm. The radiant spinster tried not to 
lean too heavily upon him; she was still afraid that he might 
think her forward. 

“Everything is quite in harmony here,” remarked the 
Vicomte as they sat down to table. 

“Yes, the trees in our garden are full of birds that give us 
music for nothing. Nobody molests them; the nightingales 
sing there every night,” said Mlle. Cormon. 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 105 


“T am speaking of the inside of the house,” remarked the 
Vicomte; he had not troubled himself to study his hostess 
particularly, and was quite unaware of her vacuity.—“Yes, 
everything contributes to the general effect; the tones of 
color, the furniture, the character of the house,’ added he, 
addressing Mlle. Cormon. 

“It costs a great deal, though,” replied that excellent 
spinster, “the rates are something enormous.” The word 
“contribute” had impressed itself on her mind. 

“Ah! then are the rates high here?” asked the Vicomte, 
too full of his own ideas to notice the absurd non 
sequitur. 

“I do not know,” said the Abbé. “My niece manages her 
own property and mine.” 

“The rates are a mere trifle if people are well-to-do,” struck 
in Mile. Cormon, anxious not to appear stingy. “As to the 
furniture, I leave things as they are. I shall never make 
any changes here; at least I shall not, unless I marry, and 
in that case everything in the house must be arranged to suit 
the master’s taste.” 

“You are for great principles, mademoiselle,” smiled the 
Vicomte ; “somebody will be a lucky man.” 

“Nobody ever made me such a pretty speech before,” 
thought Mlle. Cormon. 

The Vicomte complimented his hostess upon the appoint- 
ments of the table and the housekeeping, admitting that he 
thought that the provinces were behind the times, and found 
himself in most delectable quarters. 

“Delectable, good Lord! what does it mean?” thought she. 
“Where is the Chevalier de Valois to reply to him? De-lect- 
able? Is it made up of several words? There! courage; 
perhaps it is Russian, and if so I am not obliged to say any- 
thing.”—Then she added aloud, her tongue unloosed by an 
eloquence which almost every human creature can find in a 
great crisis—‘“We have the most brilliant society here, Mon- 
sieur le Vicomte. You will be able to judge for yourself, 
for it assembles in this very house; on some of our acquaint- 


106 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


ances we can always count; they will have heard of my re- 
turn no doubt, and will be sure to come to see me. There is 
the Chevalier de Valois, a gentleman of the old court, a man 
of infinite wit and taste; then there is M. le Marquis 
d’Esgrignon and Mlle. Armande, his sister”—she bit her lip 
and changed her mind—“a—a remarkable woman in her way. 
She refused all offers of marriage so as to leave her fortune to 
her brother and his son.” 

“Ah! yes; the d’Esgrignons, I remember them,” said the 
Vicomte. 

“Alencon is very gay,” pursued mademoiselle, now that she 
had fairly started off. “There is so much going on; the Re- 
ceiver-General gives dances; the Prefect is a very pleasant 
man; his lordship the Bishop occasionally honors us with a 
visit——~” 

“Come!” said the Vicomte, smiling as he spoke, “I have 
done well, it seems, to come creeping back like a hare (un 
lievre) to die in my form.” 

“Tt is the same with me,” replied mademoiselle; “I am 
like a creeper (le lierre), I must cling to something or die.” 

The Vicomte took the saying thus twisted for a joke, and 
smiled. 

“Ah!” thought his hostess, “that is all right, he understands 
me.” 

The conversation was kept up upon generalities. Under 
pressure of a strong desire to please, the strange, mysterious, 
indefinable workings of consciousness brought all the 
Chevalier de Valois’ tricks of speech uppermost in Mlle. Cor- 
mon’s brain. It fell out, as it sometimes does in a duel, when 
the Devil himself seems to take aim; and never did duelist hit 
his man more fairly and squarely than the old maid. The 
Vicomte de Troisville was too well mannered to praise the 
excellent dinner, but his silence was panegyric in itself! As 
he drank the delicious wines with which Jacquelin plied him, 
he seemed to be meeting old friends with the liveliest 
pleasure; for your true amateur does not applaud, he en- 
joys. He informed himself curiously of the prices of land, 





THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 107 


houses, and sites; he drew from mademoiselle a long descrip- 
tion of the property between the Brillante and the Sarthe. 
He was amazed that the town and the river lay so far apart, 
and showed the greatest interest in local topography. The 
Abbé sat silent, leaving all the conversation to his niece. 
And, in truth, mademoiselle considered that she interested M. 
de T'roisville; he smiled graciously at her, he made far more 
progress with her in the course of a single dinner than the 
most ardent of her former wooers in a whole fortnight. For 
which reasons, you may be certain that never was guest so 
cosseted, so lapped about with small attentions and observ- 
ances. He might have been a much loved lover, new come 
home to the house of which he was the delight. 

Mademoiselle forestalled his wants. She saw when he 
needed bread, her eyes brooded over him; if he turned his 
head, she adroitly supplemented his portion of any dish which 
he seemed to like; if he had been a glutton, she would have 
killed him. What a delicious earnest of all that she counted 
upon doing for her lover! She made no silly blunders of 
self-depreciation this time! She went gallantly forward, full 
sail, and all flags flying; posed as the queen of Alengon, and 
vaunted her preserves. Indeed, she fished for compliments, 
talking about herself as if her trumpeter were dead. And 
she saw that she pleased the Vicomte, for her wish to please 
had so transformed her, that she grew almost feminine. It 
was not without inward exultation that she heard footsteps 
while they sat at dessert ; sounds of going and coming in the 
ante-chamber and noises in the salon; and knew that the usual 
company was arriving. She called the attention of her uncle 
and M. de Troisville to this fact as a proof of the affection in 
which she was held, whereas it really was a symptom of the 
paroxysm of curiosity which convulsed the whole town. Im- 
patient to show herself in her glory, she ordered coffee and 
the liqueurs to be taken to the salon, whither Jacquelin went 
to display to the élite of Alencon the splendors of a Dresden 
china service, which only left the cupboard twice in a twelve- 
month. All these circumstances were noted by people dis- 
posed to criticise under their breath. 


108 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


“Head!” cried du Bousquier, “nothing but Mme. 
Amphoux’s liqueurs, which only come out on the four great 
festival days!” 

“Decidedly, this match must have been arranged by cor- 
respondence for a year past,” said M. le Président du Ron- 
ceret. ‘The postmaster here has been receiving letters with 
an Odessa postmark for the last twelve months.” 

Mme. Granson shuddered. M. le Chevalier de Valois had 
eaten a heavy dinner, but he felt the pallor spreading over his 
left cheek; felt, too, that he was betraying his secret, and 
said, “It is cold to-day, do you not think? I am freezing.” 

“Tt is the neighborhood of Russia,” suggested du Bousquier. 
And the Chevalier looked at his rival as who should say, 
“Well put in!” 

Mlle. Cormon was so radiant, so triumphant, that she looked 
positively handsome, it was thought. Nor was this unwonted 
brilliancy wholly due to sentiment; ever since the morning 
the blood had been surging through her veins; the presenti- 
ments of a great crisis at hand affected her nerves. It needed 
a combination of circumstances to make her so little like her- 
self. With what joy did she not solemnly introduce the 
Vicomte to the Chevalier, and the Chevalier to the Vicomte; 
all Alencon was presented to M. de Troisville, and M. de 
Troisville made the acquaintance of all Alencon. It fell 
out, naturally enough, that the Vicomte and the Chevalier, 
two born aristocrats, were in sympathy at once; they 
recognized each other for inhabitants of the same social 
sphere. They began to chat as they stood by the fire. A 
circle formed about them listening devoutly to their conversa- 
tion, though it was carried on sotto voce. Fully to realize the 
scene, imagine Mlle. Cormon standing with her back to the 
chimney-piece, busy preparing coffee for her supposed suitor. 

M. pe Vatoris. “So M. le Vicomte is coming to settle 
here, people say.” 

M. DE TrorsvinttE. “Yes, monsieur. I have come to look 
for a house.” (Mlle. Cormon turns, cup in hand.) “And 
I must have a large one”—(Mlle. Cormon offers the cup of 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 109 


coffee) “to hold my family.” (The room grows dark before 
the old maid's eyes.) 

M. bE Vators. “Are you married?” 

M. DE TROISVILLE. “Yes, I have been married for sixteen 
years. My wife is the daughter of the Princess Scher- 
belloff.” 

Mlle. Cormon dropped like one thunderstruck. Du Bous- 
quier, seeing her reel, sprang forward, and caught her in his 
arms. Somebody opened the door to let him pass out with his 
enormous burden. The mettled Republican, counseled by 
Josette, summoned up his strength, bore the old maid to her 
room, and deposited her upon the bed. Josette, armed with 
a pair of scissors, cut the stay-laces, drawn outrageously tight. 
Du Bousquier, rough and ready, dashed cold water over Mlle. 
Cormon’s face and the bust, which broke from its bounds like 
Loire in flood. The patient opened her eyes, saw du Bous- 
quier, and gave a cry of alarmed modesty. Du Bousquier 
withdrew, leaving half-a-dozen women in possession, with 
Mme. Granson at their head, Mme. Granson beaming with 
joy. 
What had the Chevalier de Valois done? ‘True to his 
system, he had been covering the retreat. 

“Poor Mlle. Cormon!” he said, addressing M. de Troisville, 
but looking round the room, quelling the beginnings of an 
outbreak of laughter with his haughty eyes. “She is dread- 
fully troubled with heated blood. She would not be bled be- 
fore going to the Prébaudet (her country house), and this is 
the result of the spring weather.” 

“She drove over in the rain this morning,” said the Abbé 
de Sponde. “She may have taken a little cold, and socaused the 
slight derangement of the system to which she is subject. 
But she will soon get over it.” 

“She was telling me the day before yesterday that she had 
not had a recurrence of it for three months; she added at the 
time that it was sure to play her a bad turn,” added the 
Chevalier. 

“Ah! so you are married!” thought Jacquelin, watching M. 
de Troisville, who was sipping his coffee. 


110 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


The faithful man-servant made his mistress’ disappoint- 
ment his own. He guessed her feelings. He took away the | 
liqueurs brought out for a bachelor, and not for a Russian 
woman’s husband. All these little things were noticed with 
amusement. 

The Abbé de Sponde had known all along why M. de Trois- 
ville had come to Alencon, but in his absent-mindedness he 
had said nothing about it; it had never entered his mind that 
his niece could take the slightest interest in that gentleman. 
As for the Vicomte, he was engrossed by the object of his 
journey; like many other married men, he was in no great 
hurry to introduce his wife into the conversation; he had had 
no opportunity of saying that he was married; and besides, 
he thought that Mlle. Cormon knew his history. Du Bous- 
quier reappeared, and was questioned without mercy. One 
of the six women came down, and reported that Mlle. Cormon 
was feeling much better, and that her doctor had come; but 
she was to stay in bed, and it appeared that she ought to be 
bled at once. The salon soon filled. In Mlle. Cormon’s absence, 
the ladies were free to discuss the tragi-comic scene which had 
just taken place; and duly they enlarged, annotated, em- 
bellished, colored, adorned, embroidered, and bedizened the 
tale which was to set all Alencon thinking of the old maid 
on the morrow. 

Meanwhile, Josette upstairs was saying to her mistress, 
“That good M. du Bousquier! How he carried you up- 
stairs! What a fist! Really, your illness made him quite 
pale. He loves you still.” 

And with this final phrase, the solemn and terrible day 
came to a close. 


Next day, all morning long, the news of the comedy, with 
full details, circulated over Alencon, raising laughter every- 
where, to the shame of the town be it said. Next day, Mlle. 
Cormon, very much the better for the blood-letting, would 
have seemed sublime to the most hardened of those who jeered 
at her, if they could but have seen her noble dignity and the 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 111 


Christian resignation in her soul, as she gave her hand to the 
unconscious perpetrator of the hoax, and went in to breakfast. 
Ah! heartless wags, who were laughing at her expense, why 
could you not hear her say to the Vicomte: 

“Mme. de Troisville will have some difficulty in finding a 
house to suit her. Do me the favor of using my house, mon- 
sieur, until you have made all your arrangements.” 

“But I have two girls and two boys, mademoiselle. We 
should put you to a great deal of inconvenience.” 

“Do not refuse me,” said she, her eyes full of apprehension 
and regret. 

“T made the offer, however you might decide, in my letter ; 
but you did not take it,” remarked the Abbé. 

“What, uncle! did you know ?——” 

Poor thing, she broke off. Josette heaved a sigh, and 
neither M. de Troisville nor the uncle noticed anything. 

After breakfast, the Abbé de Sponde, carrying out the plan 
agreed upon over night, took the Vicomte to see houses for 
sale and suitable sites for building. Mlle. Cormon was left 
alone in the salon. 

“T am the talk of the town, child, by this time,” she said, 
looking piteously at Josette. 

“Well, mademoiselle, get married.” 

“But, my girl, I am not at all prepared to make a choice.” 

“Bah! I should take M. du Bousquier if I were you.” 

“M. de Valois says that he is such a_ Republican, 
Josette.” 

“Your gentlemen don’t know what they are talking about; 
they say that he robbed the Republic, so he can’t have been at 
all fond of it,” said Josette, and with that she went. 

“That girl is amazingly shrewd,” thought Mlle. Cormon, 
left alone to her gnawing perplexity. 

She saw that the only way of silencing talk was to marry 
at once. This last so patently humiliating check was enough 
to drive her to extreme measures; and it takes a great deal to 
force a feeble-minded human being out of a groove, be it 
good or bad. Both the old bachelors understood the position 





112 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


of affairs, both made up their minds to call in the morning 
to make inquiries, and (in their own language) to press the 
point. 

M. de Valois considered that the occasion demanded a 
scrupulous toilet; he took a bath, he groomed himself with un- 
usual care, and for the first time and the last Césarine 
saw him applying “a suspicion of rouge” with incredible 
skill. 

Du Bousquier, rough and ready Republican that he was, 
inspired by dogged purpose, paid no attention to his appear- 
ance, he hurried round, and came in first. The fate of men, 
like the destinies of empires, hangs on small things. History 
records all such principal causes of great failure or success— 
a Kellermann’s charge at Marengo, a Blicher coming up at 
the battle of Waterloo, a Prince HKugéne slighted by Louis 
XIV., a curé on the battlefield of Denain; but nobody profits 
by the lesson to be diligently attentive to the little trifles of 
his own life. Behold the results.—The Duchesse de Langeais 
in L’Histowre des Treize entering a convent for want of ten 
minutes’ patience; Judge Popinot in L’Interdiction putting 
off his inquiries as to the Marquis d’Espard till to-morrow; 
Charles Grandet coming home by way of Bordeaux instead of 
Nantes—and these things are said to happen by accident and 
mere chance! The few moments spent in putting on that 
suspicion of rouge wrecked M. de Valois’ hopes. Only in 
such a way could the Chevalier have succumbed. He had 
lived for the Graces, he was foredoomed to die through them. 
Even as he gave a last look in the mirror, the burly du Bous- 
quier was entering the disconsolate old maid’s drawing-room. 
His entrance coincided with a gleam of favor in the lady’s 
mind, though in the course of her deliberations the Chevalier 
had decidedly had the advantage. 

“Tt is God’s will,” she said to herself when du Bousquier ap- 
peared. 

“Mademoiselle, I trust you will not take my importunity 
in bad part; I did not like to trust that great stupid of a 
René to make inquiries, and came myself.” 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 113 


“T am perfectly well,” she said nervously; then, after a 
pause, and in a very emphatic tone, “Thank you, M. du 
Bousquier, for the trouble that you took and that I gave you 
yesterda 4 

She recollected how she had lain in du Bousquier’s arms, 
and the accident seemed to her to be a direct order from 
heaven. For the first time in her life a man had seen her 
with her belt wrenched apart, her stay-laces cut, the jewel 
shaken violently out of its case. 

“IT was so heartily glad to carry you, that I thought you a 
light weight,” said he. 

At this Mlle. Cormon looked at du Bousquier as she never 
looked at any man in the world before; and thus encouraged, 
the ex-contractor for forage flung a side glance that went 
straight to the old maid’s heart. 

“It is a pity,’ added he, “that this has not given me the 
right to keep you always.” (She was listening with rapture 
in her face.) “You looked dazzling as you lay swooning 
there on the bed; I never saw such a fine woman in my life, 
and I have seen a good many.—There is this about a stout 
woman, she is superb to look at, she has only to show herself, 
she triumphs.” 

“You mean to laugh at me,” said the old maid; “that is 
not kind of you, when the whole town is perhaps putting a 
bad construction on things that happened yesterday.” 

“Tt is as true as that my name is du Bousquier, made- 
moiselle. My feelings towards you have never changed; your 
first rejection did not discourage me.” 

The old maid lowered her eyes. There was a pause, a 
painful ordeal for du Bousquier. Then Mlle. Cormon made 
up her mind and raised her eyelids; she looked up tenderly 
at du Bousquier through her tears. 

“Tf this is so, monsieur,” she said, in a tremulous voice, “I 
only ask you to allow me to lead a Christian life, do not ask 
me to change any of my habits as to religion, leave me free 
to choose my directors, and I will give you my hand,” holding 
it out to him as she spoke. 





114 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


Du Bousquier caught the plump, honest hand that held so 

many frances, and kissed it respectfully. | 

“But I have one thing more to ask,” added Mlle. Cormon, 
suffering him to kiss her hand. 

“It is granted, and if it is impossible, it shall be done” (a 
reminiscence of Beaujon). 

“Alas!” began the old maid, “for love of me you must bur- 
den your soul with a sin which I know is heinous; falsehood 
is one of the seven deadly sins; but still you can make a con- 
fession, can you not? We will both of us do penance.” They 
looked tenderly at each other at those words. 

“Perhaps,” continued Mlle. Cormon, “after all, it is one of 
those deceptions which the Church calls venial - 

“Ts she going to tell me that she is in Suzanne’s plight ?” 
thought du Bousquier. “What luck! ” Aloud he said, 
“Well, mademoiselle ?” 

“And you must take it upon you——” 

“What ?” 

“To say that this marriage was agreed upon between us 
six months ago.” 

“Charming woman!” exclaimed the forage-contractor, and 
by his manner he implied that he was prepared to make even 
this sacrifice; “a man only does thus much for the woman he 
has worshiped for ten years.” 

“In spite of my severity?” asked she. 

“Yes, in spite of your severity.” 

“M. du Bousquier, I have misjudged you.” Again she held 
out her big, red hand, and again du Bousquier kissed it. 

At that very moment the door opened, and the betrothed 
couple, turning their heads, perceived the charming but too 
tardy Chevalier. 

“Ah! fair queen,” said he, “so you have risen ?” 

Mile. Cormon smiled at him, and something clutched at 
her heart. M. de Valois, grown remarkably young and ir- 
resistible, looked like Lauzun entering La Grande Made- 
moiselle’s apartments. 

“Ah! my dear du Bousquier!” he continued, half laugh- 








THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 115 


ingly, so sure was he of success. “M. de Troisville and the 
Abbé de Sponde are in front of your house, looking it over 
like a pair of surveyors.” 

“On my word,” said du Bousquier, “if the Vicomte de 
-Troisville wants it, he can have it for forty thousand francs. 
It is of no use whatever to me.—Always, if mademoiselle 
has no objection, that must be ascertained first—Made- 
moiselle, may I tell?—Yes?—Very well, my dear Chevalier, 
you shall be the first to hear’—-Mlle. Cormon dropped her 
eyes—“‘of the honor and the favor that mademoiselle is doing 
me; I have kept it a secret for more than six months. We 
are going to be married in a very few days, the contract is 
drawn up, we shall sign it to-morrow. So, you see, that I 
have no further use for my house in the Rue du Cygne. I 
am quietly on the lookout for a purchaser, and the Abbé de 
Sponde, who knew this, naturally took M. de T'roisville to 
see it.” 

There was such a color of truth about this monstrous fib 
that the Chevalier was quite taken in by it. My dear 
Chevalier was a return for all preceding defeats; it was like 
the victory won at Pultowa by Peter the Great over Charles 
XII. And thus du Bousquier enjoyed a delicious revenge for 
hundreds of pin-pricks endured in silence; but in his triumph 
he forgot that he was not a young man, he passed his fingers 
through the false toupet, and—it came off in his hand! 

“T congratulate you both,’ said the Chevalier, with an 
agreeable smile; “I wish that you may end like the fairy 
stories, ‘They lived very happily and had a fine—family of 
children!’ ”’ Here he shaped a cone of snuff in his palm be- 
fore adding mockingly, “But, monsieur, you forgot that— 
er—you wear borrowed plumes.” 

Du Bousquier reddened. The false toupet was ten inches 
awry. Mlle. Cormon raised her eyes to the face of her 
betrothed, saw the bare cranium, and bashfully looked down 
again. Never toad looked more venomously at a victim than 
du Bousquier at the Chevalier. 

“A pack of aristocrats that look down on me!” he thought. 
“J will crush you all some of these days.” 


116 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


The Chevalier de Valois imagined that he had regained all 
the lost ground. But Mlle. Cormon was not the woman to 
understand the connection between the Chevalier’s congratu- 
lation and the allusion to the false toupet; and, for that 
matter, even if she had understood, her hand had been given. 
M. de Valois saw too clearly that all was lost. Meantime, as 
the two men stood without speaking, Mlle. Cormon innocently 
studied how to amuse them. 

“Play a game of reversis,” suggested she, without any mali- 
cious intention. 

Du Bousquier smiled, and went as future master of the 
house for the card-table. Whether the Chevalier de Valois 
had lost his head, or whether he chose to remain to study the 
causes of his defeat and to remedy it, certain it is that he al- 
lowed himself to be led like a sheep to the slaughter. But 
he had just received the heaviest of all bludgeon blows; and 
a noble might have been excused if he had been at any rate 
stunned by it. Very soon the worthy Abbé de Sponde and 
M. de Troisville returned, and at once Mlle. Cormon hurried 
into the ante-chamber, took her uncle aside, and told him in 
a whisper of her decision. Then, hearing that the house in 
the Rue du Cygne suited M. de Troisville, she begged her 
betrothed to do her the service of saying that her uncle knew 
that the place was for sale. She dared not confide the fib to 
the Abbé, for fear that he should forget. The falsehood was 
destined to prosper better than if it had been a virtuous 
action. All Alencon heard the great news that night. For 
four days the town had found as much to say as in the 
ominous days of 1814 and 1815. Some laughed at the idea, 
others thought it true; some condemned, others approved the 
marriage. The bourgeoisie of Alencon regarded it as a con- 
quest, and they were the best pleased. 

The Chevalier de Valois, next day, among his own circle, 
brought out this cruel epigram, “The Cormons are ending as 
they began; stewards and contractors are all on a footing.” 

The news of Mlle. Cormon’s choice went to poor Athanase’s 
heart; but he showed not a sign of the dreadful tumult surg- 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 1i7 


ing within. He heard of the marriage at President du Ron- 
ceret’s while his mother was playing a game of boston. Mme. 
Granson, looking up, saw her son’s face in the glass; he 
looked white, she thought, but then he had been pale ever since 
vague rumors had reached him in the morning. Mlle. Cor- 
mon was the card on which Athanase staked his life, and chill 
presentiments of impending catastrophe already wrapped him 
about. When intellect and imagination have exaggerated a 
calamity till it becomes a burden too heavy for shoulders and 
brow to bear, when some long-cherished hope fails utterly, 
and with it the visions which enable a man to forget the 
fierce vulture cares gnawing at his heart; then, if that man 
has no belief in himself, in spite of his powers; no belief in 
the future, in spite of the Power Divine—he is broken in 
pieces. Athanase was a product of education under the 
Empire. Fatalism, the Emperor’s creed, spread downwards 
to the lowest ranks of the army, to the very schoolboys at their 
desks. Athanase followed Mme. du Ronceret’s play with a 
stolidity which might so easily have been taken for indiffer- 
ence, that Mme. Granson fancied she had been mistaken as 
to her son’s feelings. 

Athanase’s apparent carelessness explained his refusal to 
sacrifice his\ so-called “Liberal” opinions. This word, then 
recently coined for the Emperor Alexander, proceeded into the 
language, I believe, by way of Mme. de Staél through Benja- 
min Constant. 

After that fatal evening the unhappy young man took to 
haunting one of the most picturesque walks along the Sarthe; 
every artist who comes to Alencon sketches it from that point 
of view, for the sake of the watermills, and the river gleaming 
brightly out among the fields, between the shapely well-grown 
trees on either side. Flat though the land may be, it lacks 
none of the subdued peculiar charm of French landscape; 
for in France your eyes are never wearied by glaring HKastern 
sunlight, nor saddened by too continual mist. It is a lonely 
spot. Dwellers in the provinces care nothing for beautiful 
scenery, perhaps because it is always about them, perhaps 


118 THE JHALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


because there is a sense lacking in them. If there is such a 
thing as a promenade, a mall, or any spot from which you see 
a beautiful view, it is sure to be the one unfrequented part of 
the town. Athanase liked the loneliness, with the water like a 
living presence in it, and the fields just turning green in the 
warmth of the early spring sunlight. Occasionally some one 
who had seen him sitting at a poplar foot, and received an 
intent gaze from his eyes, would speak to Mme. Granson 
about him. 

“There is something the matter with your son.” 

“T know what he is about,” the mother would say with a 
satisfied air, hinting that he was meditating some great work. 

Athanase meddled no more in politics; he had no opin- 
ions; and yet, now and again, he was merry enough, merry at 
the expense of others, after the wont of those who stand alone 
and apart in contempt of public opinion. The young fellow 
lived so entirely outside the horizon of provincial ideas and 
amusements, that he was interesting to few people; he did not 
so much as rouse curiosity. ‘Those who spoke of him to his 
mother did so for her sake, not for his. Not a creature in 
Alencgon sympathized with Athanase; the Sarthe received the 
tears which no friend, no loving woman dried. If the 
magnificent Suzanne had chanced to pass that way, how much 
misery might have been prevented—the two young creatures 
would have fallen in love. 

And yet Suzanne certainly passed that way. Her ambition 
had been first awakened by a sufficiently marvelous tale of 
things which happened in 1799; an old story of adventures 
begun at the sign of the Three Moors had turned her childish 
brain. ‘They used to tell how an adventuress, beautiful as an 
angel, had come from Paris with a commission from Fouché 
to ensnare the Marquis de Montauran, the Chouan leader sent 
over by the Bourbons; how she met him at that very inn of 
the Three Moors as he came back from his Mortagne expedi- 
tion; and how she won his love, and gave him up to his 
enemies. The romantic figure of this woman, the power of 
beauty, the whole story of Marie de Verneuil and the Marquis 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 119 


de Montauran, dazzled Suzanne, till, as she grew older, she 
too longed to play with men’s lives. A few months after the 
flight, she could not resist the desire to see her native place 
again, on her way to Brittany with an artist. She wanted to 
see. Fougéres, where the Marquis de Montauran met his 
death; and thought of making a pilgrimage to the scenes of 
stories told to her in childhood of that War in the West, so 
little known even yet. She wished, besides, to revisit Alencon 
with such splendor in her surroundings, and so completely 
metamorphosed, that nobody should know her again. She in- 
tended to put her mother beyond the reach of want in one 
moment, and, in some tactful way, to send a sum of money 
to poor Athanase—a sum which for genius in modern days is 
the equivalent of a Rebecca’s gift of horse and armor to an 
Ivanhoe of the Middle Ages. 

A month went by. Opinions as to Mlle. Cormon’s marriage 
fluctuated in the strangest way. There was an incredulous 
section which strenuously denied the truth of the report, and 
a party of believers who persistently affirmed it. At the end 
of a fortnight, the doubters received a severe check. Du 
Bousquier’s house was sold to M. de Troisville for forty-three 
thousand francs. M. de Troisville meant to live quite quietly 
in Alencon; he intended to return to Paris after the death 
of the Princess Scherbelloff, but until the inheritance fell in 
he would spend his time in looking after his estates. This 
much appeared to be fact. But the doubting faction declined 
to be crushed. Their assertion was that, married or no, du 
Bousquier had done a capital stroke of business, for his house 
only stood him in a matter of twenty-seven thousand francs. 
The believers were taken aback by this peremptory decision 
on the part of their opponents. “Choisnel, Mlle. Cormon’s 
notary, had not heard a word of marriage settlements,” added 
the incredulous. 

But on the twentieth day the unshaken believers enjoyed | 
a signal victory over the doubters. M. Lepresseur, the 
Liberal notary, went to Mlle. Cormon’s house, and the con- 
tract was signed. This was the first of many sacrifices 


120 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


which Rose made to her husband. The fact was that du 
Bousquier detested Choisnel; he blamed the notary for Mlle. © 
Armande’s refusal in the first place, as well as for his previous 
rejection by Mlle. Cormon, who, as he believed, had followed 
Mlle. Armande’s example. He managed Mlle. Cormon so 
well, that she, noble-hearted woman, believing that she had 
misjudged her future husband, wished to make reparation 
for her doubts, and sacrificed her notary to her love. Still 
she submitted the contract to Choisnel, and he—a man 
worthy of Plutarch—defended Mlle. Cormon’s interests by 
letter. This was the one cause of delay. 

Mlle. Cormon received a good many anonymous letters. 
She was informed, to her no small astonishment, that Suzanne 
was as honest a woman as she was herself; and that the 
seducer in the false toupet could not possibly have played the 
part assigned to him in such an adventure. Mlle. Cormon 
scorned anonymous letters; she wrote, however, to Suzanne 
with a view to gaining light on the creeds of the Maternity 
Society. Suzanne probably had heard of du Bousquier’s 
approaching marriage; she confessed to her stratagem, sent 
a thousand francs to the Fund, and damaged the forage-con- 
tractor’s character very considerably. Mlle. Cormon called 
an extraordinary meeting of the Maternity Charity, and the 
assembled matrons passed a resolution that henceforward the 
Fund should give help after and not before misfortunes 
befell. 

In spite of these proceedings, which supplied the town with 
tidbits of gossip to discuss, the banns were published at the 
church and the mayor’s office. It was Athanase’s duty to make 
out the needful documents. The betrothed bride had gone 
to the Prébaudet, a measure taken partly by way of conven- 
tional modesty, partly for general security. Thither du Bous- 
quier went every morning, fortified by atrocious and sumptu- 
ous bouquets, returning in the evening to dinner. 

At last, one gray rainy day in June, the wedding took place; 
and Mlle. Cormon and the Sieur du Bousquier, as the in- 
credulous faction called him, were married at the parish 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 121 


ehurch in the sight of all Alencon. Bride and bridegroom 
drove to the mayor’s office, and afterwards to the church, in a 
caléche—a splendid equipage for Alengcon. Du Bousquier had 
it sent privately from Paris. The loss of the old cariole was 
a kind of calamity for the whole town. The saddler of the 
Porte de Séez lost an income of fifty francs per annum for 
repairs; he lifted up his voice and wept. With dismay the 
town of Alencon beheld the luxury introduced by the Maison 
Cormon; every one feared a rise of prices all round, an in- 
crease of house rent, an invasion of Paris furniture. There 
were some whose curiosity pricked them to the point of giving 
Jacquelin ten sous for a nearer sight of so startling an innova- 
tion in a thrifty province. A pair of Normandy horses like- 
wise caused much concern. 

“Tf we buy horses for ourselves in this way, we shall not 
sell them long to those that come to buy of us,” said du 
Ronceret’s set. 

The reasoning seemed profound, stupid though it was, in so 
far as it prevented the district from securing a monopoly of 
money from outside. In the political economy of the prov- 
inces the wealth of nations consists not so much in a brisk 
circulation of money as in hoards of unproductive coin. 

At length the old maid’s fatal wish was fulfilled. Penelope 
sank under the attack of pleurisy contracted forty days before 
the wedding. Nothing could save her. Mme. Granson, Mari- 
ette, Mme. du Coudrai, Mme. du Ronceret—the whole town, 
in fact—noticed that the bride came into church with the 
left foot foremost, an omen all the more alarming because the 
word Left even then had acquired a political significance. 
The officiating priest chanced to open the mass-book at the 
De profundis. And so the wedding passed off, amid presages 
so ominous, so gloomy, so overwhelming, that nobody was 
found to augur well of it. Things went from bad to worse. 
There was no attempt at a wedding party; the bride and 
bridegroom started out for the Prébaudet. Paris fashions 
were to supplant old customs! In the evening Alengon said 
its say as to all these absurdities; some persons had reckoned 


122 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


upon one of the usual provincial jollifications, which they con- 
sidered they had a right to expect, and these spoke their minds 
pretty freely. But Mariette and Jacquelin had a merry wed- 
ding, and they alone in all Alencon gainsaid the dismal proph- 
ecies. 

Bu Bousquier wished to spend the profit made by the sale 
of his house on restoring and modernizing the Hotel Cormon. 
He had quite made up his mind to stay for some months at 
the Prébaudet, whither he brought his uncle de Sponde. The 
news spread dismay through Alencon; every one felt that du 
Bousquier was about to draw the country into the downward 
path of domestic comfort. The foreboding grew to a fear one 
morning when du Bousquier drove over from the Prébaudet 
to superintend his workmen at the Val-Noble; and the towns- 
people beheld a tilbury, harnessed to a new horse, and René 
in livery by his master’s side. Du Bousquier had invested his 
wife’s savings in the funds which stood at sixty-seven francs 
fifty centimes. This was the first act of the new administra- 
tion. In the space of one year, by constantly speculating for 
a rise, he made for himself a fortune almost as considerable 
as his wife’s. But something else happened in connection 
with this marriage to make it seem yet more inauspicious, and 
put all previous overwhelming portents and alarming innova- 
tions into the background. 

It was the evening of the wedding day. Athanase and his 
mother were sitting in the salon by the little fire of brush- 
wood (or régalades, as they say in the patois), which the 
servant had lighted after dinner. 

“Well,” said Mme. Granson, “we will go to President du 
Ronceret’s to-night, now that we have no Mlle. Cormon. 
Goodness me! I shall never get used to calling her Mme. du 
Bousquier ; that name makes my lips sore.” 

Athanase looked at his mother with a sad constraint; he 
could not smile, and he wanted to acknowledge, as it were, 
the artless thoughtfulness which soothed the wound it could 
not heal. 

“Mamma,” he began—it was several years since he had 


THH JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 1238 


used that word, and his tones were so gentle that they sounded 
like the voice of his childhood—“‘mamma, dear, do not let us 
go out just yet; it is so nice here by the fire!” 

It was a supreme cry of mortal anguish; the mother heard 
it and did not understand. 

“Let us stay, child,’ she said. “I would certainly rather 
talk with you and listen to your plans than play at boston and 
perhaps lose my money.” 

“You are beautiful to-night; I like to look at you. And 
besides, the current of my thoughts is in harmony with this 
poor little room, where we have been through so much trouble 
—you and I.” 

“And there is still more in store for us, poor Athanase, until 
your work succeeds. For my own part, I am used to poverty ; 
but, oh, my treasure, to look on and see your youth go by 
while you have no joy of it! Nothing but work in your life! 
That thought is like a disease for a mother. It tortures me 
night and morning. I wake up to it. Ah, God in heaven! 
what have I done? What sin of mine is punished with this?” 

» She left her seat, took a little chair, and sat down beside 
Athanase, nestling close up to his side, till she could lay her 
head on her child’s breast. Where a mother is truly a mother, 
the grace of love never dies. Athanase kissed her on the eyes, 
on the gray hair, on the forehead, with the reverent love that 
fain would lay the soul where the lips are laid. 

“T shall never succeed,” he said, trying to hide the fatal 
purpose which he was revolving in his mind. 

“Pooh! you are not going to be discouraged? Mind can do 
all things, as you say. With ten bottles of ink, ten reams of 
paper, and a strong will, Luther turned Europe upside down. 
Well, and you are going to make a great name for yourself; 
you are going to use to good ends the powers which he used 
for evil. Did you not say so? Now I remember what you 
say, you see; I understand much more than you think; for 
you still lie so close under my heart, that your least little 
thought thrills through it, as your slightest movement did 
once.” 


124 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


“T shall not succeed here, you see, mamma, and I will not 
have you looking on while I am struggling and heartsore and — 
in anguish. Mother, let me leave Alengon; I want to go 
through it all away from you.” 

“T want to be at your side always,” she said proudly. “Suf- 
fering alone! you without your mother! your poor mother 
that would be your servant if need were, and keep out of sight 
for fear of injuring you, if you wished it, and never accuse 
you of pride! No, no, Athanase, we will never be parted !” 

Athanase put his arms about her and held her with a pas- 
sionate tight clasp, as a dying man might cling to life. 

“And yet I wish it,” he said. “If we do not part, it is all 
over with me. . . . The double pain—yours and mine— 
would kill me. It is better that I should live, is it not?” 

Mme. Granson looked with haggard eyes into her son’s 
face. 

“So this is what you have been brooding over! They said 
truth. Then you are going away?” 

eV agi: 

“But you are not going until you have told me all about it, 
and without giving me any warning? You must have some 
things to take with you, and money. ‘There are some louis 
d’or sewed into my petticoat; you must have them.” 

Athanase burst into tears. 

“That was all that I wanted to tell you,” he said after a 
while. “Now, I will see you to the President’s house.” 

Mother and son went out together. Athanase left Mme. 
Granson at the door of the house where she was to spend the 
evening. He looked long at the shafts of light that escaped 
through chinks in the shutters. He stood there glued to the 
spot, while a quarter of an hour went by, and it was with 
almost delirious joy that he heard his mother say, “Grand 
independence of hearts.” 

“Poor mother, I have deceived her!” he exclaimed to him- 
self as he reached the river. 

He came down to the tall poplar on the bank where he had 
been wont to sit and meditate during the last six weeks. Two 


THE JHALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 125 


big stones lay there; he had brought them himself for a seat. 
And now, looking out over the fair landscape lying in the 
moonlight, he passed in review all the so glorious future that 
should have been his. He went through cities stirred to en- 
thusiasm by his name; he heard the cheers of crowded streets, 
breathed the incense of banquets, looked with a great yearning 
over that life of his dreams, rose uplifted and radiant in glori- 
‘ous triumph, raised a statue to himself, summoned up all his 
illusions to bid them farewell in a last Olympian carouse. 
The magic could only last for a little while; it fled, it had 
vanished for ever. In that supreme moment he clung fo his 
beautiful tree as if it had been a friend; then he put the 
stones, one in either pocket, and buttoned his overcoat. His 
hat he had purposely left at home. He went down the bank 
to look for a deep spot which he had had in view for some 
time; and slid in resolutely, trying to make as little noise as 
possible. There was scarcely a sound. 

When Mme. Granson came home about half-past nine that 
night, the maid-of-all-work said nothing of Athanase, but 
handed her a letter. Mme. Granson opened it and read: 

“T have gone away, my kind mother; do not think hardly 
of me.” That was all. 

“A pretty thing he has done!” cried she. “And how about 
his linen and the money? But he will write, and I shall find 
him. The poor children always think themselves wiser than 
their fathers and mothers.” And she went to bed with a quiet 
mind. 

The Sarthe had risen with yesterday’s rain. Fishers and 
anglers were prepared for this, for the swollen river washes 
down the eels from the little streams on its course. It so hap- 
pened that an eel-catcher had set his lines over the very spot 
where poor Athanase had chosen to drown himself, thinking 
that he should never be heard of again; and next morning, 
about six o’clock, the man drew out the young dead body. 

One or two women among Mme. Granson’s few friends 
went to prepare the poor widow with all possible care to re- 
ceive the dreadful yield of the river. The news of the suicide, 


126 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


as might be expected, produced a tremendous sensation. Only 
last evening the poverty-stricken man of genius had not a 
single friend; the morning after his death scores of voices 
cried, “I would so willingly have helped him!’ So easy is it 
to play a charitable part when no outlay is involved. The 
Chevalier de Valois, in the spirit of revenge, explained the 
suicide. It was a boyish, sincere, and noble passion for Mlle. 
Cormon that drove Athanase to take his own life. And when 
the Chevalier had opened Mme. Granson’s eyes, she saw a 
multitude of little things to confirm this view. ‘The story 
grew touching; women cried over it. 

Mme. Granson sorrowed with a dumb concentration of grief 
which few understood. For mothers there are two ways of 
bereavement. It often happens that every one else can under- 
stand the greatness of her loss; her boy was admired and ap- 
preciated, young or handsome, with fair prospects before him 
or brilliant successes won already ; every one regrets him, every 
one shares her mourning, and the grief that is widely spread 
is not so hard to bear. ‘Then there is the loss that one under- 
stands. No one else knew her boy and all that he was; his 
smiles were for her alone; she, and she only, knew how much 
perished with that life, too early cut short. Such sorrow hides 
itself; beside that darkness other woe grows pale; no words 
can describe it; and, happily, there are not many women who 
know what it is to have those heart-strings finally severed. 

Hven before Mme. du Bousquier came back to town, her 
obliging friend, Mme. du Ronceret, went to fling a dead body 
down among the roses of her new-wedded happiness, to let 
her know what a love she had refused. Ever so gently the 
Présidente squeezed a shower of drops of wormwood over the 
honey of the first month of married life. And as Mme. du 
Bousquier returned, it so happened that she met Mme. Gran- 
son at the corner of the Val-Noble, and the look in the heart- 
broken mother’s eyes cut her to the quick. It was a look from 
a woman dying of grief, a thousand curses gathered up into 
one glance of malediction, a thousand sparks in one gleam of 
hate. It frightened Mme. du Bousquier; it boded ill, and in- 
voked ill upon her. 


THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 127 


Mme. Granson had belonged to the party most opposed to 
the curé; she was a bitter partisan of the priest of St. Leon- 
ard’s; but on the very evening of the tragedy she thought of 
the rigid orthodoxy of her own party, and she shuddered. She 
herself laid her son in his shroud, thinking all the while of the 
Mother of the Saviour ; then with a soul quivering with agony, 
she betook herself to the house of the perjured priest. She 
found him busy, the humble good man, storing the hemp and 
flax which he gave to poor women and girls to spin, so that no 
worker should ever want work, a piece of wise charity which 
had saved more than one family that could not endure to beg. 
He left his hemp at once and brought his visitor into the 
dining-room, where the stricken mother saw the frugality of 
her own housekeeping in the supper that stood waiting for the 
curé. 

“M. l’Abbé,” she began, “I have come to entreat you if 

She burst into tears, and could not finish the sentence. 

“T know why you have come,” answered the holy man, “and 
I trust to you, madame, and to your relative Mme. du Bous- 
quier to make it right with his Lordship at Séez. Yes, I will 
pray for your unhappy boy; yes, I will say masses; but we 
must avoid all scandal, we must give no occasion to ill-dis- 
posed people to gather together in the church. . . . I 
myself, alone, and at night 4 

“Yes, yes, as you wish, if only he is laid in consecrated 
ground !” she said, poor mother; and taking the priest’s hand 
in hers, she kissed it. 

And so, just before midnight, a bier was smuggled into the 
parish church. Four young men, Athanase’s friends, carried 
it. There were a few little groups of veiled and black-clad 
women, Mme. Granson’s friends, and some seven or eight lads 
that had been intimate with the dead. The bier was covered 
with a pall, torches were lit at the corners, and the curé read 
the office for the dead, with the help of one little choir boy 
whom he could trust. Then the suicide was buried, noise- 
lessly, in a corner of the churchyard, and a dark wooden cross 
with no name upon it marked the grave for the mother. 
Athanase lived and died in the shadow. 








128 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


Not a voice was raised against the curé; his Lordship at 
Séez was silent ; the mother’s piety redeemed her son’s impious 
deed. 

Months afterwards, moved by the inexplicable thirst of sor- 
row which drives the unhappy to steep their lips in their bitter 
cup, the poor woman went to see the place where her son 
drowned himself. Perhaps she felt instinctively that there 
were thoughts to be gathered under the poplar tree; perhaps, 
too, she longed to see all that his eyes had seen for the last 
time. The sight of the spot would kill many a mother; while 
again there are some who can kneel and worship there.—There 
are truths on which the patient anatomist of human nature 
cannot insist too much; verities against which education and 
laws and systems of philosophy are shattered. It is absurd— 
let us repeat it again and again—to try to lay down hard-and- 
fast rules in matters of feeling; the personal element comes 
in to modify feeling as it arises, and a man’s character in- 
fluences his most instinctive actions. 

Mme. Granson, by the river-side, saw a woman at some dis- 
tance—a woman who came nearer, till she reached the fatal 
spot, and exclaimed: 

“Then this is the place !” 

One other woman in the world wept there as the mother 
was weeping, and that woman was Suzanne. She had heard 
of the tragedy on her arrival that morning at the Three Moors. 
If poor Athanase had been alive, she might have done what 
poor and generous people dream of doing, and the rich never 
think of putting in practice; she would have enclosed a thou- 
sand francs with the words, “Money lent by your father to a 
comrade who now repays you.” During her journey Suzanne 
had thought of this angelic way of giving. She looked up 
and saw Mme. Granson. 

“T loved him,” she said; then she hurried away. 

Suzanne, true to her nature, did not leave Alencon till she 
had changed the bride’s wreath of orange flowers to water- 
lilies. She was the first to assert that Mme. du Bousquier 
would be Mlle. Cormon, as long as she lived. And with one 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 129 


jibe she avenged both Athanase and the dear Chevalier de 
Valois. 

Alengon beheld another and more piteous suicide. Athanase 
was promptly forgotten by a world that willingly, and indeed 
of necessity, forgets its dead as soon as possible; but the poor 
Chevalier’s existence became a kind of death-in-life, a suicide 
continued morning after morning during fourteen years. 
Three months after du Bousquier’s marriage, people remarked, 
not without astonishment, that the Chevalier’s linen was turn- 
ing yellow, and his hair irregularly combed. M. de Valois was 
no more, for a disheveled M. de Valois could not be said to be 
himself. An ivory tooth here and there deserted from the 
ranks, and no student of human nature could discover to what 
corps they belonged, whether they were native or foreign, ani- 
mal or vegetable ; nor whether, finally, they had been extracted 
by old age, or were merely lying out of sight and out of mind 
in the Chevalier’s dressing-table drawer. His cravat was 
wisped, careless of elegance, into a cord. The negroes’ heads 
grew pale for lack of soap and water. ‘The lines on the 
Chevalier’s face deepened into wrinkles and darkened as his 
complexion grew more and more like parchment ; his neglected 
nails were sometimes adorned with an edge of black velvet. 
Grains of snuff lay scattered like autumn leaves in the furrows 
of his waistcoat. The cotton in his ears was but seldom re- 
newed. Melancholy, brooding on his brow, spread her sallow 
hues through his wrinkles; in short, time’s ravages, hitherto 
so carefully repaired, began to appear in rifts and cracks in 
the noble edifice. Here was proof of the power of the mind 
over matter! The blond cavalier, the jewne premier, fell into 
decay when hope failed. 

Hitherto the Chevalier’s nose had made a peculiarly elegant 
appearance in public; never had it been seen to distil a drop 
of amber, to let fall a dark wafer of moist rappee; but now, 
with a snuff-bedabbled border about the nostrils, and an un- 
sightly stream taking advantage of the channel hollowed above 
the upper lip, that nose, which no longer took pains to please, 
revealed the immense trouble that the Chevalier must have 


130 THE JHALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


formerly taken with himself. In this neglect you saw 
the extent, the greatness and persistence of the man’s designs 
upon Mlle. Cormon. The Chevalier was crushed by a pun 
from du Coudrai, whose dismissal he however procured. It 
was the first instance of vindictiveness on the part of the 
urbane gentleman; but then the pun was atrocious, worse by 
a hundred cubits than any other ever made by the registrar 
of mortgages. M. du Coudrai, observing this nasal revolution, 
had nicknamed the Chevalier “Nérestan” (nez-restant). 

Latterly the Chevalier’s witticisms had been few and far 
between ; the anecdotes went the way of the teeth, but his appe- 
tite continued as good as ever; out of the great shipwreck of 
hopes he saved nothing but his digestion; and while he took 
his snuff feebly, he despatched his dinner with an avidity 
alarming to behold. You may mark the extent of the havoc 
wrought in his ideas in the fact that his colloquies with the 
Princess Goritza grew less and less frequent. He came to 
Mlle. Armande’s one day with a false calf in front of his shins. 
The bankruptcy of elegance was something painful, I protest ; 
all Alencon was shocked by it. It scared society to see an 
elderly young man drop suddenly into his dotage, and from 
sheer depression of spirits pass from fifty to ninety years. 
And besides, he had betrayed his secret. He had been waiting 
and lying in wait for Mlle. Cormon. For ten long years, per- 
severing sportsman that he was, he had been stalking the 
game, and he had missed his shot. The impotent Republic 
had won a victory over a valiant Aristocracy, and that in full 
flood of Restoration! The sham had triumphed over the real; 
spirit was vanquished by matter, diplomacy by insurrection ; 
and as a final misfortune, a grisette in an outbreak of bad 
temper, let out the secret of the Chevalier’s levées ! 

At once he became a man of the worst character. The 
Liberal party laid all du Bousquier’s foundlings on the Cheva- 
lier’s doorstep, while the Faubourg Saint-Germain of Alencon 
boastingly accepted them; laughed and cried, “The dear 
Chevalier! What else could he do?” Saint-Germain pitied 
the Chevalier, took him to its bosom, and smiled more than 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 131 


ever upon him; while an appailing amount of unpopularity 
was drawn down upon du Bousquier’s head. Hleven persons 
seceded from the salon Cormon and went over to the d’Hs- 
grignons. 

But the especial result of the marriage was a more sharply- 
marked division of parties in Alengon. The Maison d’Hs- 
grignon represented undiluted aristocracy ; for the Troisvilles 
on their return joined the clique. The Maison Cormon, skil- 
fully influenced by du Bousquier, was not exactly Liberal, 
nor yet resolutely Royalist, but of that unlucky shade of 
opinion which produced the 221 members, so soon as the po- 
litical struggle took a definite shape, and the greatest, most 
august, and only real power of Kingship came into collision 
with that most false, fickle, and tyrannical power which, when 
wielded by an elective body, is known as the power of Parlia- 
ment. 

The third salon, the salon du Ronceret, out and out Radical 
in its politics, was secretly allied with the Maison Cormon. 


With the return from the Prébaudet, a life of continual 
suffering began for the Abbé de Sponde. He kept all that he 
endured locked within his soul, uttering not a word of com- 
plaint to his niece; but to Mlle. Armande he opened his heart, 
admitting that taking one folly with another, he should have 
preferred the Chevalier. M. de Valois would not have had 
the bad taste to thwart a feeble old man with but a few days 
to live. Du Bousquier had pulled the old home to pieces. 

“Mademoiselle,” the old ‘Abbé said as the thin tears fell 
from his faded old eyes, “the lime-tree walk, where I have 
been used to meditate these fifty years, is gone. My dear lime- 
trees have all been cut down! Just as I am nearing the end 
of my days the Republic has come back again in the shape of 
a horrible revolution in the house.” 

“Your niece must be forgiven,’ said the Chevalier de- 
Valois. “Republicanism is a youthful error; youth goes out 
to seek for liberty, and finds tyranny in its worst form—the 
tyranny of the impotent rabble. Your niece, poor thing, has 
not been punished by the thing wherein she sinned.” 


132 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


“What is to become of me in a house with naked women 
dancing all over the walls? Where shall I find the lime-tree 
walks where I used to read my breviary ?” 

Like Kant, who lost the thread of his ideas when somebody 
cut down the fir-tree on which he fixed his eyes as he medi- 
tated, the good Abbé pacing up and down the shadowless al- 
leys could not say his prayers with the same uplifting of soul. 
Du Bousquier had laid out an English garden! 

“Tt looked nicer,’ Mme. du Bousquier said. Not that she 
really thought so, but the Abbé Couturier had authorized her 
to say and do a good many things that she might please her 
husband. 

With the restoration, all the glory departed from the old 
house, and all its quaint, cheerful, old-world look. If the 
Chevalier de Valois’ neglect of his person might be taken as 
a sort of abdication, the bourgeois majesty of the salon Cor- 
mon passed away when the drawing-room was decorated with 
white and gold; and blue silk curtains and mahogany otto- 
mans made their appearance. In the dining-room, fitted up 
in the modern style, the dishes were somehow not so hot, nor 
the dinners quite what they had been. M. du Coudrai said 
that the puns stuck fast in his throat when he saw the painted 
figures on the walls and felt their eyes upon him. Without, 
the house was provincial as ever; within, the forage-contractor 
of the Directory made himself everywhere felt. All over the 
house you saw the stockbroker’s bad taste; stucco pilasters, 
glass doors, classic cornices, arid decoration—a medley: of 
every imaginable style and ill-assorted magnificence. 

Alengon criticised such unheard-of luxury for a fortnight, 
and grew proud of it at the end of a few months. Several 
rich manufacturers refurnished their houses in consequence, 
and set up fine drawing-rooms. Modern furniture made its 
appearance; astral lamps might even be seen in some places. 

The Abbé de Sponde was the first to see the unhappiness 
which lay beneath the surface of his dear child’s married life. 
The old dignified simplicity which ruled their way of living 
was gone; du Bousquier gave two balls every month in the 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 138 


course of the first winter. The venerable house—oh, to think 
of it!—echoed with the sound of violins and worldly gaiety. 
The Abbé, on his knees, prayed while the merriment lasted. 
_ The politics of the sober salon underwent a gradual change 
for the worse. The Abbé de Sponde divined du Bousquier ; 
he shuddered at his nephew’s dictatorial tone. He saw tears 
in his niece’s eyes when the disposal of her fortune was taken 
out of her hands; her husband left her only the control of 
the linen, the table, and such things as fall to a woman’s lot. 
Rose had no more orders to give. Jacquelin, now coachman 
exclusively, took his orders from no one but his master; René, 
the groom, did likewise, so did the man-cook imported from 
Paris; Mariette was only the kitchen-maid; and Mme. du 
Bousquier had no one to tyrannize over but Josette. 

Does any one know how much it costs to give up the de- 
licious exercise of authority? If the triumph of will is one of 
the most intoxicating of the great man’s joys, to have one’s 
own way is the whole hfe of narrow natures. No one but a 
cabinet minister fallen into disgrace can sympathize with 
Mme. du Bousquier’s bitter pain when she saw herself reduced 
to a cipher in her own house. She often drove out when she 
would rather have stayed at home; she saw company which 
she did not like; she who had been free to spend as she pleased, 
and had never spent at all, had lost the control of the money 
which she loved. Impose limits, and who does not wish to go 
beyond them? Is there any sharper suffering than that which 
comes of thwarted will? 

But these beginnings were the roses of life. Every con- 
cession was counseled by poor Rose’s love for her husband, 
and at first du Bousquier behaved admirably to his wife. He 
was very good to her; he brought forward sufficient reasons 
for every encroachment. The room, so long left empty, echoed 
with the voices of husband and wife in fireside talk. And so, 
for the first few years of married life, Mme. du Bousquier 
wore a face of content, and that little air of emancipation 
and mystery often seen in a young wife after a marriage of 

love. She had no more trouble with “heated blood.” This 


134 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


countenance of hers routed scoffers, gave the lie to gossip con- 
cerning du Bousquier, and put observers of human nature at 
fault. 

Rose Marie Victoire was so afraid lest she should lose her 
husband’s affection or drive him from her side by setting her 
will against his, that she would have made any sacrifice, even 
of her uncle if need be. And the Abbé de Sponde, deceived 
by Mme. du Bousquier’s poor foolish little joys, bore his own 
discomforts the more easily for the thought that his niece was 
happy. 

At first Alencon shared this impression. But there was 
one man less easy to deceive than all the rest of Alengon put 
together. The Chevalier de Valois had taken refuge on the 
Mons Sacer of the most aristocratic section, and spent his time 
with the d’Esgrignons. He lent an ear to the scandal and 
tittle-tattle ; night and day he studied how to have his revenge 
before he died. The perpetrator of puns had been already 
brought low, and he meant to stab du Bousquier to the heart. 

The poor Abbé, knowing as he did the cowardliness of his 
niece’s first and last love, shuddered as he guessed his nephew’s 
hypocritical nature and the man’s intrigues. Du Bousquier, 
be it said, put some constraint upon himself; he had an eye 
to the Abbé’s property, and had no wish to annoy his wife’s 
uncle in any way, yet he dealt the old man his death-blow. 

If you can translate the word Intolerance by Firmness of 
Principle; if you can forbear to condemn in the old Roman 
Catholic Vicar-General that stoicism which Scott has taught 
us to revere in Jeanie Deans’ Puritan father; if, finally, you 
can recognize in the Roman Church the nobility of a Potius 
mor. quam fedart which you admire in a Republican—then 
you can understand the anguish that rent the great Abbé de 
Sponde when he saw the apostate in his nephew’s drawing- 
room ; when he was compelled to meet the renegade, the back- 
slider, the enemy of the Church, the aider and abettor of the 
Oath to the Constitution. It was du Bousquier’s private ambi- 
tion to lord it over the countryside; and as a first proof of his 
power, he determined to reconcile the officiating priest of St. 


a 


THH JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 135 


Leonard’s with the curé of Alencon. He gained his object. 
His wife imagined that peace had been made where the stern 
Abbé saw no peace, but surrender of principle. M. de Sponde 
was left alone in the faith. The Bishop came to du Bous- 
quier’s house, and appeared satisfied with the cessation of hos- 
tilities. The Abbé Francois’ goodness had conquered every 
one—every one except the old Roman of the Roman Church, 
who might have cried with Cornélie, “Ah, God! what virtues 
you make me hate!” The Abbé de Sponde died when ortho- 
doxy expired in the diocese. 

In 1819 the Abbé de Sponde’s property raised Mme. du 
Bousquier’s income from land to twenty-five thousand livres 
without counting the Prébaudet or the house in the Val- 
Noble. About the same time du Bousquier returned the 
amount of his wife’s savings (which she had made over to 
him), and instructed her to invest the moneys in purchases 
of land near the Prébaudet, so that the estate, including the 
Abbé de Sponde’s adjoining property, was one of the largest 
in the department. As for du Bousquier, he invested his 
money with the Kellers, and made a journey to Paris four 
times a year. Nobody knew the exact amount of his private 
fortune, but at this time he was supposed to be one of the 
wealthiest men in the department of the Orne. A dexterous 
man, and the permanent candidate of the Liberal party, he 
always lost his election by seven or eight votes under the 
Restoration. Ostensibly he repudiated his connection with 
the Liberals, offering himself as a Ministerial-Royalist candi- 
date; but although he succeeded in gaining the support of 
the Congrégation and of the magistrature, the repugnance of 
the administration was too strong to be overcome. 

Then the rabid Republican, frantic with ambition, con- 
ceived the idea of beginning a struggle with the Royalism 
and Aristocracy of the country, just as they were carrying all 
before them. He gained the support of the clergy by an ap- 
pearance of piety very skilfully kept up; always going with 
his wife to mass, giving money to the convents, and support- 
ing the confraternity of the Sacré-Coeur; and whenever a dis- 


136 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


pute arose between the clergy and the town, or the department, 
or the State, he was very careful to take the clerical side. 
And so, while secretly supported by the Liberals, he gained 
the influence of the Church; and as a Constitutional-Royalist 
kept close beside the aristocratic section, the better to ruin 
it. And ruin it he did. He was always on the watch for any 
mistake on the part of those high in rank or in office under 
the Government; with the support of the bourgeoisie he car- 
ried out all the improvements which the nobles and officials 
ought to have undertaken and directed, if the imbecile jeal- 
ousies of place had not frustrated their efforts. Constitu- 
tional opinion carried him through in the affair of the curé, 
in the theatre question, and in all the various schemes of im- 
provement which du Bousquier first prompted the Liberals to 
make, and afterwards supported in the course of debate, de- 
claring himself in favor of any measures for the good of the 
country. He brought about an industrial revolution; and his 
detestation of certain families on the highroad to Brittany 
rapidly increased the material prosperity of the province. 

And so he paved the way for his revenge upon the gens @ 
chateaux in general, and the d’Esgrignons in particular; 
some day, not so very far distant, he would plunge a poisoned 
blade into the very heart of the clique. He found capital to 
revive the manufacture of point d’Alencon and to increase the 
linen trade. Alengon began to spin its own flax by machinery. 
And while his name was associated with all these interests, 
and written in the hearts of the masses, while he did all that 
Royalty left undone, du Bousquier risked not a farthing of 
his own. With his means, he could afford to wait while 
enterprising men with little capital were obliged to give up 
and leave the results of their labors to luckier successors. He 
posed as a banker. A Laffitte on a small scale, he became a 
sleeping partner in all new inventions, taking security for his 
money. And as a public benefactor, he did remarkably well 
for himself. He was a promoter of insurance companies, a 
patron of new public conveyances; he got up memorials for 
necessary roads and bridges. The authorities, being left be- 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 137 


hind in this way, regarded this activity in the light of an en- 
croachment; they blundered, and put themselves in the 
wrong, for the prefecture was obliged to give way for the good 
of the country. 

Du Bousquier embittered the provincial noblesse against 
the court nobles and the peerage. He helped, in short, to 
bring it to pass that a very large body of Constitutional- 
Royalists supported the Journal des Débats and M. de Cha- 
teaubriand in a contest with the throne. It was an ungrateful 
opposition based on ignoble motives which contributed to 
bring about the triumph of the bourgeoisie and the press in 
1830. Wherefore du Bousquier, like those whom he repre- 
sented, had the pleasure of watching a funeral procession of 
Royalty* pass through their district without a single demon- 
stration of sympathy from a population alienated from them 
in ways so numerous that they cannot be indicated here. 

Then the old Republican, with all that weight of masses 
on his conscience, hauled down the white flag above the town- 
hall amid the applause of the people. For fifteen years he 
had acted a part to satisfy his vendetta, and no man in France 
beholding the new throne raised in August 1830 could feel 
more intoxicated than he with the joy of revenge. For him, 
the succession of the younger branch meant the triumph of the 
Revolution ; for him, the hoisting of the Tricolor flag was the 
resurrection of the Mountain; and this time the nobles should 
be brought low by a surer method than the guillotine, in that 
its action should be less violent. A peerage for life only; a Na- 
tional Guard which stretches the marquis and the grocer from 
the corner shop on the same camp bed; the abolition of entail 
demanded by a bourgeois barrister; a Catholic Church de- 
prived of its supremacy; in short, all the legislative inven- 
tions of August 1830 simply meant for du Bousquier the 
principles of 1793 carried out in a most ingenious manner. 

Du Bousquier has been receiver-general of taxes since 1830. 
He relied for success upon his old connections with Egalité 
Orléans (father of Louis Philippe) and M. de Folman, stew- 


*Charles X. on his way to England. 


138 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


ard of the Dowager Duchess. He is supposed to have an in- 
come of eighty thousand livres. In the eyes of his fellow- 
countrymen, Monsieur du Bousquier is a man of substance, 
honorable, upright, obliging, unswerving in his principles. 
To him, Alengon owes her participation in the industrial 
movement which makes her, as it were, the first link in a 
chain which some day perhaps may bind Brittany to the state 
of things which we nickname “modern civilization.”’ In 1816 
Alengon boasted but two carriages, properly speaking; ten 
years afterwards, caléches, coupés, landaus, cabriolets, and 
tilburies were rolling about the streets without causing any 
astonishment. At first the townsmen and landowners were 
alarmed by the rise of prices, afterwards they discovered that 
the increased expenditure produced a corresponding increase 
in their incomes. | 

Du Ronceret’s prophetic words, ““Du Bousquier is a very 
strong man,” were now taken up by the country. But, unfor- 
tunately for du Bousquier’s wife, the remark is a shocking 
misnomer. Du Bousquier the husband is a very different 
person from du Bousquier the public man and politician. The 
great citizen, so liberal in his opinions, so easy humored, so 
full of love for his country, is a despot at home, and has not 
a particle of love for his wife. The Cromwell of the Val-Noble 
is profoundly astute, hypocritical, and crafty; he behaves to 
those of his own household as he behaved to the aristocrats on 
whom he fawned, until he could cut their throats. Like his 
friend Bernadotte, he has an iron hand in a velvet glove. His 
wife gave him no children. Suzanne’s epigram, and the 
Chevalier de Valois’ insinuations, were justified ; but the Lib- 
erals and Constitutional-Royalists among the townspeople, 
the little squires, the magistrature, and the “clericals” (as the 
Constitutionnel used to say), all threw the blame upon Mme. 
du Bousquier. M. du Bousquier had married such an elderly 
wife, they said; and besides, how lucky it was for her, poor 
thing, for at her age bearing a child meant such a risk. If, 
in periodically recurrent despair, Mme. du Bousquier confided 
her troubles with tears to Mme. du Coudrai or Mme. du 
Ronceret-— 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 139 


“Why you must be mad, dear!” those ladies would reply. 
“You do not know what you want; a child would be the death 
of you.” 

Men like M. du Coudrai, who followed du Bousquier’s lead 
because they fastened their hopes to his success, would prompt 
their wives to sing du Bousquier’s praises; and Rose must 
listen to speeches that wounded like a stab. 

“You are very fortunate, dear, to have such a capable hus- 
band; some men have no energy, and can neither manage 
their own property nor bring up their children ; you are spared 
these troubles.” 

Or, “Your husband is making you queen of the district, 
fair lady. He will never leave you at a loss; he does every- 
thing in Alencon.” 

“But I should like him to take less trouble for the public 
and rather is 

“My dear Mme. du Bousquier, you are very hard to please ; 
all the women envy you your husband.” 

Unjustly treated by a world which condemned her without 
a hearing, she found ample scope for the exercise of Christian 
virtues in her inner life. She who lived in tears always 
turned a serene face upon the world. For her, pious soul, 
was there not sin in the thought which was always pecking at 
her heart—“I loved the Chevalier de Valois, and I am du 
Bousquier’s wife!” Athanase’s love rose up like a remorse to 
haunt her dreams. After her uncle’s death and the revelation 
of all that he had suffered, the future grew yet more dreadful 
as she thought how grieved he would have been by such 
changes of political and religious doctrine. Unhappiness often 
falls like a thunderbolt, as upon Mme. Granson, for instance ; 
but Rose’s misery gradually widened out before her as a drop 
of oil spreads over stuff, slowly saturating every fibre. 

The Chevalier de Valois was the malignant artificer of her 
misfortune. He had it on his mind to snatch his opportunity 
and undeceive Mme. du Bousquier as to one of her articles of 
faith ; for the Chevalier, a man of experience, saw through du 
Bousquier the married man, as he had seen through du Bous- 





140 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


quier the bachelor. But it was not easy to take the astute ~ 
Republican by surprise. His salon, naturally, was closed to 
the Chevalier de Valois, as to all others who discontinued 
their visits to the Maison Cormon at the time of his marriage. 
And besides, du Bousquier was above the reach of ridicule; 
he possessed an immense fortune, he was king of Alengon; 
and as for his wife, he cared about her much as Richard III. 
might have cared for the loss of the horse with which he 
thought to win the battle. To please her husband, Mme. du 
Bousquier had broken with the Maison d’Esgrignon, but some- 
times, when he was away at Paris for a few days, she paid 
Mlle. Armande a visit. 

Two years after Mme. du Bousquier’s marriage, just at the 
time of the Abbé’s death, Mlle. Armande went up to her as 
she came out of church. Both women had been to St. Leon- 
ard’s to hear a messe novre said for M. de Sponde; and Mlle. 
Armande, a generous-natured woman, thinking that she ought 
to try to comfort the weeping heiress, walked with her as far 
as the Parade. From the Parade, still talking of the beloved 
and lost, they came to the forbidden Hotel d’Esgrignon, and 
Mlle. Armande drew Mme. du Bousquier into the house by 
the charm of her talk. Perhaps the poor broken-hearted 
woman loved to speak of her uncle with some one whom her 
uncle had loved so well. And besides, she wished to receive 
the old Marquis’ greetings after an interval of nearly three 
years. it was half-past one o’clock; the Chevalier de Valois 
had come to dinner, and with a bow he held out both hands. 

“Ah! well, dear, good, and well-beloved lady,” he said trem- 
ulously, “we have lost our sainted friend. Your mourning is 
ours. Yes; your loss is felt as deeply here as under your roof 
—more deeply,” he added, alluding to du Bousquier. 

A funeral oration followed, to which every one contributed 
his phrase; then the Chevalier, gallantly taking the lady’s 
hand, drew it under his arm, pressed it in the most adorable 
way, and led her aside into the embrasure of a window. 

“You are happy, at any rate?” he asked with a fatherly tone 
in his voice. 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 141 


“Yes,” she said, lowering her eyes. 

Hearing that “Yes,” Mme. de Troisville (daughter of the 
Princess Scherbelloff) and the old Marquise de Castéran came 
up; Mile. Armande also joined them, and the group took a 
turn in the garden till dinner should be ready. Mme. du 
Bousquier was so stupid with grief that she did not notice 
that a little conspiracy of curiosity was on foot among the 
ladies. 

“We have her here, let us find out the answer to the riddle,” 
the glances exchanged among them seemed to say. 

“You should have children to make your happiness com- 
plete,’ began Mlle. Armande, “a fine boy like my nephew 

23 


Tears came to Mme. du Bousquier’s eyes. 

“YT have heard it said that it was entirely your own fault 
if you had none,” said the Chevalier, “that you were afraid of 
the risk.” 

“I!” she cried, innocently; “I would endure a hundred 
years in hell to have a child.” 

The subject thus broached, Mme. la Vicomtesse de Trois- 
ville and the dowager Marquise de Castéran steered the con- 
versation with such exceeding tact, that they entangled poor 
Rose until, all unsuspectingly, she revealed the secrets of her 
married life. Mlle. Armande laid her hand on the Chevalier’s 
arm, and they left the three matrons to talk confidentially. 
Then Mme. du Bousquier’s mind was disabused with regard 
to the deception of her marriage; and as she was still “a 
natural,’ she amused her confidantes with her irresistible 
naiveté. Before long the whole town was in the secret of du 
Bousquier’s manceuvres, and knew that Mlle. Cormon’s mar- 
riage was a mockery; but after the first burst of laughter, 
Mme. du Bousquier gained the esteem and sympathy of every 
woman in it. While Mlle. Cormon rushed unsuccessfully at 
opportunities of establishing herself, every one had laughed ; 
but people admired her when they knew the position in which 
she was placed by the severity of her religious principles. 
“Poor, dear Mile. Cormon!” was replaced by “poor Mme. du 
Bousquier |” 


142 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


In this way the Chevalier made du Bousquier both ridicu- 
lous and very unpopular for a while, but the ridicule died 
down with time; the slander languished when everybody had 
cut his joke; and besides, it seemed to many persons that the 
mute Republican had a right to retire at the age of fifty-seven. 
But if du Bousquier previously hated the Maison d’Hsgrignon, 
this incident so increased his rancor that he was pitiless after- 
wards in the day of vengeance. Mme. du Bousquier received 
orders never to set foot in that house again; and by way of 
reprisals, he inserted the following paragraph in the Orne 
Courier, his own new paper: 


“A REWARD of rente to bring in a thousand francs will be 
paid to any person who shall prove that one M. de Pombreton 
existed either before or after the Emigration.” 


Though Mme. du Bousquier’s happiness was essentially 
negative, she saw that her marriage had its advantages. Was 
it not better to take an interest in the most remarkable man 
in the place than to live alone? After all, du Bousquier was 
better than the dogs, cats, and canaries on which old maids 
centre their affections; and his feeling for his wife was some- 
thing more genuine and disinterested than the attachment 
of servants, confessors, and legacy-hunters. At a still later 
period she looked upon her husband as an instrument in God’s 
hands to punish her for the innumerable sins which she dis- 
covered in her desires for marriage; she regarded herself as 
justly rewarded for the misery which she had brought on 
Mme. Granson, and for hastening her own uncle’s end. Obedi- 
ent to a religious faith which bade her kiss the rod, she praised 
her husband in public; but in the confessional, or over her 
prayers at night, she often wept and entreated God to pardon 
the apostate who said one thing and thought another, who 
wished for the destruction of the order of nobles and the 
Church, the two religions of the Maison Cormon. Living in 
an uncongenial atmosphere, compelled to suppress herself, 
compelled likewise by a sense of duty to make her husband 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 143 


happy, and to injure him in nothing, she became attached to 
him with an indefinable affection, perhaps the result of use 
and wont. Her life was a perpetual contradiction. She felt 
the strongest aversion for the conduct and opinions of the 
man she had married, and yet it was her duty to take a tender 
interest in him; and if, as often happened, du Bousquier ate 
her preserves, or thought that the dinner was good, she was 
in the seventh heaven. She saw that his comfort was secured 
even in the smallest details. If he left the wrapper of his 
newspaper on the table, there it must remain. 

“Leave it, René,’ she would say, “the master had some 
reason for putting it there.” 

Did du Bousquier go on a journey? She fidgeted over his 
traveling cloak and his linen; she took the most minute pre- 
cautions for his material comfort. If he was going over to the 
Prébaudet, she began to consult the weather glass twenty-four 
hours beforehand. A sleeping dog has eyes and ears for his 
master, and so it was with Mme. du Bousquier; she used to 
watch the expression of her husband’s face to read his wishes. 
And if that burly personage, vanquished by duty-prescribed 
love, caught her by the waist and kissed her on the forehead, 
exclaiming, ““You are a good woman!” tears of joy filled the 
poor creature’s eyes. It is probable that du Bousquier felt it 
incumbent upon him to make compensations which won Rose 
Marie Victoire’s respect ; for the Church does not require that 
an assumption of wifely devotion should be carried quite so 
far as Mme. du Bousquier thought necessary. And yet when 
she listened to the rancorous talk of men who took Constitu- 
tional-Royalism as a cloak for their real opinions, the woman 
of saintly life uttered not a word. She foresaw the downfall 
of the Church, and shuddered. Very occasionally she would 
hazard some foolish remark, promptly cut in two by a look 
from du Bousquier. In the end this life at cross-purposes had 
a benumbing influence on Mme. du Bousquier’s wits; she 
found it both simpler and more dignified to keep her mind to 
herself, and led outwardly a mere animal existence. She grew 
slavishly submissive, making a virtue of the abject condition 


144 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


to which her husband*had reduced her; she did her husband’s 
will without murmuring in the least. The timid sheep walked 
in the way marked out by the shepherd; never leaving the 
bosom of the Church, practising austerities, without a thought 
of the Devil, his pomps and works. And so, within herself 
she united the purest Christian virtues, and du Bousquier 
truly was one of the luckiest men in the kingdom of France 
and Navarre. 

“She will be a simpleton till her last sigh,” said the cruel 
ex-registrar (now cashiered). But, all the same, he dined 
at her table twice a week. 

The’story would be singularly incomplete if it omitted to 
mention a last coincidence; the Chevalier de Valois and 
Suzanne’s mother died at the same time. 

The Chevalier died with the Monarchy in August 1830. 
He went to Nonancourt to join the funeral procession ; piously 
making one of the King’s escort to Cherbourg, with the Trois- 
villes, Castérans, d’Esgrignons, Verneuils, and the rest. He 
had brought with him his little hoard of savings and the 
principal which brought him in his annual income, some fifty 
thousand franes in all, which he offered to a faithful friend 
of the elder branch to convey to His Majesty. His own death 
was very near, he said; the money had come to him through 
the King’s bounty; and, after all, the property of the last of 
the Valois belonged to the Crown. History does not say 
whether the Chevalier’s fervent zeal overcame the repugnance 
of the Bourbon who left his fair kingdom of France without 
taking one farthing into exile; but the King surely must 
have been touched by the old noble’s devotion; and this much 
is at least certain—Césarine, M. de Valois’ universal legatee, 
inherited scarcely six hundred livres of income at his death. 
The Chevalier came back to Alencon, broken-hearted and 
spent with the fatigue of the journey, to die just as Charles 
X. set foot on foreign soil. 

Mme. du Val-Noble and her journalist protector, fearing 
reprisals from the Liberals, were glad of an excuse to return 
wncognito to the village where the old mother died. Suzanne 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 145 


attended the sale of the Chevalier’s furniture to buy some relic 
of her first good friend, and ran up the price of the snuff-box 
to the enormous amount of a thousand francs. The Princess 
Goritza’s portrait alone was worth that sum. ‘T'wo years 
afterwards, a young man of fashion, struck with its marvelous 
workmanship, obtained it of Suzanne for his collection of 
fine eighteenth century snuff-boxes; and so the delicate toy 
which had been the confidant of the most courtly of love 
affairs, and the delight of an old age till its very end, is now 
brought into the semi-publicity of a collection. If the dead 
could know what is done after they are gone, there would be 
a flush at this moment on the Chevalier’s left cheek. 

If this history should inspire owners of sacred relics with 
a holy fear, and set them drafting codicils to provide for the 
fate of such precious souvenirs of a happiness now no more, 
by giving them into sympathetic hands; even so an enormous 
service would have been rendered to the chivalrous and senti- 
mental section of the public; but it contains another and a 
much more exalted moral. . . . Does it not show that a 
new branch of education is needed? Is it not an appeal to 
the so enlightened solicitude of Ministers of Public Instruc- 
tion to create chairs of anthropology, a science in which Ger- 
many is outstripping us? 

Modern myths are even less understood of the people than 
ancient myths, eaten up with myths though we may be. 
Fables crowd in upon us on every side, allegory is pressed into 
service on all occasions to explain everything. If fables are 
the torches of history, as the humanist school maintains, they 
may be a means of securing empires from revolution, if only 
professors of history will undertake that their interpretations 
thereof shall permeate the masses in the departments. If 
Mlle. Cormon had had some knowledge of literature; if there 
had been a professor of anthropology in the department of 
the Orne; if (a final if) she had read her Ariosto, would the 
appalling misfortune of her marriage have befallen her? She 
would, perhaps, have found out for herself why the Italian 
poet makes his heroine Angelica prefer Medoro (a suave 


146 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 
Chevalier de Valois) to Orlando, who had lost his mare, and 
could do nothing but work himself into a fury. Might not 
Medoro be taken as an allegorical figure as the courtier of 
woman’s sovereignty, whereas Orlando is revolution personi- 
fied, an undisciplined, furious, purely destructive force, in- 
capable of producing anything? ‘This is the opinion of one 
of M. Ballanche’s pupils; we publish it, declining all respon- 
sibility. 

As for the tiny negroes’ heads, no information of any kind 
concerning them is forthcoming. Mme. du Val-Noble you 
may see any day at the Opera. Thanks to the primary edu- 
cation given to her by the Chevalier de Valois, she looks al- 
most like a woman who makes a necessity of virtue, while in 
truth she only exists by virtue of necessity. 

Mme. du Bousquier is still living, which is to say, is it not, 
that her troubles are not yet over? At sixty, when women 
can permit themselves to make admissions, talking confiden- 
tially to Mme. du Coudrai, whose husband was reinstated in 
August 1830, she said that the thought that she must die with- 
out knowing what it was to be a wife and mother was more 
than she could bear. 


PARIs, October 1836. 


THE JHALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 147 


THE COLLECTION OF ANTIQUITIES 


To Baron Von Hammer-Purgstall 
Member of the Aulic Council, Author of the History of the 


Ottoman Empire. 


Dear Baron,—You have taken so warm an interest in my long, 
vast “History of French Manners in the Nineteenth Century,” 
you have given me so much encouragement to persevere with 
my work, that you have given me a right to associate your name 
with some portion of it. Are you not one of the most important 
representatives of conscientious, studious Germany? Will not 
your approval win for me the approval of others, and protect 
this attempt of mine? So proud am I to have gained your good 
opinion, that I have striven to deserve it by continuing my labors 
with the unflagging courage characteristic of your methods of 
study, and of that exhaustive research among documents with- 
out which you could never have given your monumental work 
to the world of letters. Your sympathy with such labor as you 
yourself have bestowed upon the most brilliant civilization of 
the East, has often sustained my ardor through nights of toil 
given to the details of our modern civilization. And will not 
you, whose naive kindliness can only be compared with that 
of our own La Fontaine, be glad to know of this? 

May this token of my respect for you and your work find you 
at Dobling, dear Baron, and put you and yours in mind of one 
of your most sincere admirers and friends. DE BALZAC, 


148 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


' Turmre stands a house at a corner of a street, in the middle 
of a town, in one of the least important prefectures in France, 
but the name of the street and the name of the town must be 
suppressed here. Every one will appreciate the motives of 
this sage reticence demanded by convention; for if a writer 
takes upon himself the office of annalist of his own time, he is 
bound to touch on many sore subjects. The house was called 
the Hétel d’Esgrignon; but let d’Esgrignon be considered a 
mere fancy name, neither more nor less connected with real 
people than the conventional Belval, Floricour, or Derville of 


the stage, or the Adalberts and Mombreuses of romance. After — 


all, the names of the principal characters will be quite as 
much disguised; for though in this history the chronicler 


would prefer to conceal the facts under a mass of contradic- 


tions, anachronisms, improbabilities, and absurdities, the 
truth will out in spite of him. You uproot a vine-stock, as 
you imagine, and the stem will send up lusty shoots after you 
have ploughed your vineyard over. 

The “Hotel d’Esgrignon” was nothing more nor less than 
the house in which the old Marquis lived; or, in the style of 
ancient documents, Charles Marie Victor Ange Carol, Marquis 
d’Esgrignon. It was only an ordinary house, but the towns- 
people and tradesmen had begun by calling it the Hdtel 
d’Esgrignon in jest, and ended after a score of years by giv- 
ing it that name in earnest. 

The name of Carol, or Karawl, as the Thierrys would have 
spelt it, was glorious among the names of the most powerful 
chieftains of the Northmen who conquered Gaul and estab- 
lished the feudal system there. Never had Carol bent his head 
before King or Communes, the Church or Finance. In- 
trusted in the days of yore with the keeping of a French 
March, the title of marquis in their family meant no shadow 
of imaginary office; it had been a post of honor with duties to 
discharge. Their fief had always been their domain. Pro- 
vincial nobles were they in every sense of the word; they 
might boast of an unbroken line of great descent; they had 
been neglected by the court for two hundred years; they were 


Se a a ae ee 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 149 


lords paramount in the estates of a province where the people 
looked up to them with superstitious awe, as to the image 
of the Holy Virgin that cures the toothache. The house of 
d’Esgrignon, buried in its remote border country, was pre- 
served as the charred piles of one of Cesar’s bridges are 
maintained intact in a river bed. For thirteen hundred 
years the daughters of the house had been married without a 
dowry or taken the veil; the younger sons of every genera- 
tion had been content with their share of their mother’s 
dower and gone forth to be captains or bishops; some had 
made a marriage at court; one cadet of the house became an 
admiral, a duke, and a peer of France, and died without issue. 
Never would the Marquis d’Esgrignon of the elder branch ac- 
cept the title of duke. 
. “I hold my marquisate as His Majesty holds the realm of 
France, and on the same conditions,” he told the Constable 
de Luynes, a very paltry fellow in his eyes at that time. 
You may be sure that d’Hsgrignons lost their heads on the 
scaffold during the troubles. The old blood showed itself 
proud and high even in 1789. The Marquis of that day 
would not emigrate; he was answerable for his March. The 
reverence in which he was held by the countryside saved his 
head; but the hatred of the genuine sans-culottes was strong 
_ enough to compel him to pretend to fly, and for a while he 
_ lived in hiding. Then, in the name of the Sovereign People, 
the d’Esgrignon lands were dishonored by the District, and 
_ the woods sold by the Nation in spite of the personal protest 
' made by the Marquis, then turned of forty. Mlle. 
_ dEsgrignon, his half-sister, saved some portions of the fief, 
_ thanks to the young steward of the family, who claimed on 
her behalf the partage de présuccession, which is to say, the 
_ right of a relative to a portion of an émigré’s lands. To 
- Mile. d’Esgrignon, therefore, the Republic made over the 
castle itself and a few farms. Chesnel, the faithful steward, 
_ was obliged to buy in his own name the church, the parsonage 
house, the castle gardens, and other places to which his 
patron was attached—-the Marquis advancing the money. 


150 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


The slow, swift years of the Terror went by, and the Mar- 
quis, whose character had won the respect of the whole 
country, decided that he and his sister ought to return to the 
castle and improve the property which Maitre Chesnel—for 
he was now a notary—had contrived to save for them out of 
the wreck. Alas! was not the plundered and dismantled 
castle all too vast for a lord of the manor shorn of all his 
ancient rights; too large for the landowner whose woods had 
been sold piecemeal, until he could scarce draw nine thousand 
franes of income from the pickings of his old estates? 

It was in the month of October 1800 that Chesnel brought 
the Marquis back to the old feudal castle, and saw with deep 
emotion, almost beyond control, his patron standing in the 
midst of the empty courtyard, gazing round upon the moat, - 
now filled up with rubbish, and the castle towers razed to 
the level of the roof. The descendant of the Franks looked 
for the missing Gothic turrets and the picturesque weather 
vanes which used to rise above them; and his eyes turned to 
the sky, as if asking of heaven the reason of this social up- 
heaval. No one but Chesnel could understand the profound 
anguish of the great d’Esgrignon, now known as Citizen 
Carol. For a long while the Marquis stood in silence, drink- 
ing in the influences of the place, the ancient home of his 
forefathers, with the air that he breathed; then he flung out 
a most melancholy exclamation. 

“Chesnel,” he said, “we will come back again some day 
when the troubles are over; I could not bring myself to live 
here until the edict of pacification has been published; they 
will not allow me to set my scutcheon on the wall.” 

He waved his hand toward the castle, mounted his horse, 
and rode back beside his sister, who had driven over in the 
notary’s shabby basket-chaise. 

The Hotel d’Esgrignon in the town had been demolished ; 
a couple of factories now stood on the site of the aristocrat’s 
house. So Maitre Chesnel spent the Marquis’ last bag of 
louis on the purchase of the old-fashioned, building in the 
square, with its gables, weather-vane, turret, and dovecote. 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 151 


Once it had been the courthouse of the bailiwick, and sub- 
sequently the présidial; it had belonged to the d’Esgrignons 
from generation to generation; and now, in consideration of 
five hundred louis d’or, the present owner made it over with 
the title given by the Nation to its rightful lord. And so, 
half in jest, half in earnest, the old house was christened the 
Hotel d’Esgrignon. 

In 1800 little or no difficulty was made over erasing names 
from the fatal list, and some few émigrés began to return. 
Among the very first nobles to come back to the old town were 
the Baron de Nouastre and his daughter. They were com- 
pletely ruined. M. d’Esgrignon generously offered them the 
shelter of his roof; and in his house, two months later, the 
Baron died, worn out with grief. The Nouastres came of the 
best blood of the province; Mlle. de Nouastre was a girl of 
two-and-twenty; the Marquis d’Esgrignon married her to 
continue his line. But she died in childbirth, a victim to the 
unskilfulness of her physician, leaving, most fortunately, a 
son to bear the name of the d’Esgrignons. The old Marquis 
—he was but fifty-three, but adversity and sharp distress hae 
added months to every year—the poor old Marquis saw the 
death of the loveliest of human creatures, a noble woman ir 
whom the charm of the feminine figures of the sixteentk 
century lived again, a charm now lost save to men’s imagina-~ 
tions. With her death the joy died out of his old age. It 
was one of those terrible shocks which reverberate through 
every moment of the years that follow. For a few moments 
he stood beside the bed where his wife lay, with her hands 
folded like a saint, then he kissed her on the forehead, turned. 
away, drew out his watch, broke the mainspring, and hung 
it up beside the hearth. It was eleven o’clock in the 
morning. 

“Mlle. @’Esgrignon,” he said, “let us pray God that this 
hour may not prove fatal yet again to our house. My uncle 
the archbishop was murdered at this hour; at this hour also 
my father died. ‘i 

He knelt down beside the bed and buried his face in the 





152 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


coverlet; his sister did the same, in another moment they 
both rose to their feet. Mlle. d’Esgrignon burst into 
tears; but the old Marquis looked with dry eyes at the 
child, round the room, and again on his dead wife. 
To the stubbornness of the Frank he united the fortitude of a 
Christian. 

These things came to pass in the second year of the nine- 
teenth century. Mlle. d’Hsgrignon was then twenty-seven 
years of age. She was a beautiful woman. An ex-contractor 
for forage to the armies of the Republic, a man of the district, 
with an income of six thousand francs, persuaded Chesnel to 
carry a proposal of marriage to the lady. The Marquis and 
his sister were alike indignant with such presumption in their 
man of business, and Chesnel was almost heartbroken; he 
could not forgive himself for yielding to the Sieur du 
Croisier’s blandishments. The Marquis’ manner with his old 
servant changed somewhat; never again was there quite the 
old affectionate kindliness, which might almost have been 
taken for friendship. From that time forth the Marquis was 
grateful, and his magnanimous and sincere gratitude con- 
tinually wounded the poor notary’s feelings. To some 
sublime natures gratitude seems an excessive payment; they 
would rather have that sweet equality of feeling which springs 
from similar ways of thought, and the blending of two spirits 
by their own choice and will. And Maitre Chesnel had 
known the delights of such high friendship; the Marquis had 
raised him to his own level. The old noble looked on the good 
notary as something more than a servant, something less than 
a child; he was the voluntary liege man of the house, a 
serf bound to his lord by all the ties of affection. There was 
no balancing of obligations; the sincere affection on either 
side put them out of the question. 

In the eyes of the Marquis, Chesnel’s official dignity was 
as nothing; his old servitor was merely disguised as a notary. 
As for Chesnel, the Marquis was now, as always, a being of a 
divine race; he believed in nobility; he did not blush to re- 
member that his father had thrown open the doors of the 
salon to announce that “My Lord Marquis is served.” His 


THB JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 153 


devotion to the fallen house was due not so much io his creed 
as to egoism; he looked on himself as one of the family. So 
his vexation was intense. Once he had ventured to allude to 
_ his mistake in spite of the Marquis’ prohibition, and the old 
noble answered gravely—“Chesnel, before the troubles you 
would not have permitted yourself to entertain such injurious 
suppositions. What can these new doctrines be if they have 
spoiled you?” 

Maitre Chesnel Aad gained the confidence of the whole 
town; people looked up to him; his high integrity and con- 
siderable fortune contributed to make isn a person of im- 
portance. From that time forth he felt a very decided 
aversion for the Sieur du Croisier; and though there was 
little rancor in his composition, he set others against the 
sometime forage-contractor. Du Croisier, on the other hand, 
was a man to bear a grudge and nurse a vengeance for a 
score of years. He hated Chesnel and the d’Esgrignon family 
with the smothered, all-absorbing hate only to be found in a 
country town. His rebuff had simply ruined him with the: 
malicious provincials among whom he had come to live, think- 
ing to rule over them. It was so real a disaster that he was 
not long in feeling the consequences of it. He betook himself 
in desperation to a wealthy old maid, and met with a second 
refusal. Thus failed the ambitious schemes with which he 
had started. He had lost his hope of a marriage with Mlle. 
d@’Esgrignon, which would have opened the Faubourg Saint- 
Germain of the province to him; and after the second re- 
jection, his credit fell away to such an extent that it was 
almost as much as he could do to keep his position in the 
second rank. 

In 1805, M. de la Roche-Guyon, the oldest son of an ancient 
family which had previously intermarried with the 
d’Esgrignons, made proposals in form through Maitre Chesnel 
for Mlle. Marie Armande Claire d’Esgrignon. She declined 
to hear the notary. 

“You must have guessed before now that I am a mother, 
dear Chesnel,” she said; she had just put her nephew, a fine 
little boy of five, to bed. 


154 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


The old Marquis rose and went up to his sister, but just 
returned from the cradle; he kissed her hand reverently, and 
as he sat down again, found words to say: 

“My sister, you are a d’Esgrignon.” 

A quiver ran through the noble girl; the tears stood in her 
eyes. M. d’Esgrignon, the father of the present Marquis, had 
married a second wife, the daughter of a farmer of taxes 
ennobled by Louis XIV. It was a shocking mésalliance in 
the eyes of his family, but fortunately of no importance, 
since a daughter was the one child of the marriage. Armande 
knew this. Kind as her brother had always been, he looked 
on her as a stranger in blood. And this speech of his had 
just recognized her as one of the family. 

And was not her answer the worthy crown of eleven years 
of her noble life? Her every action since she came of age had 
borne the stamp of the purest devotion; love for her brother 
was a sort of religion with her. 

“T shall die Mlle. d’Esgrignon,” she said simply, turning 
to the notary. 

“For you there could be no fairer title,” returned Chesnel, 
meaning to convey a compliment. Poor Mlle. d’Hsgrignon 
reddened. 

“You have blundered, Chesnel,” said the Marquis, flattered 
by the steward’s words, but vexed that his sister had been 
hurt. “A d’Esgrignon may marry a Montmorency; their 
descent is not so pure as ours. The d’Esgrignons bear or, 
two bends, gules,’ he continued, “and nothing during nine 
hundred years has changed their scutcheon; as it was at first, 
so it is to-day. Hence our device, Cuil est nostre, taken at a 
tournament in, the reign of Philip Augustus, with the sup- 
porters, a knight in armor or on the right, and a lion gules 
on the left.” 


“I do not remember that any woman I have ever met has 
struck my imagination as Mlle. d’Esgrignon did,” said Emile 
Blondet, to whom contemporary literature is indebted for 
this history among other things. “Truth to tell, I was a 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 155 


boy, a mere child at the time, and perhaps my memory-pict- 
ures of her owe something of their vivid color to a boy’s 
natural turn for the marvelous. 

“Tf I was playing with other children on the Parade, and 
she came to walk there with her nephew Victurnien, the 
sight of her in the distance thrilled me with very much the 
effect of galvanism on a dead body. Child as I was, I felt 
as though new life had been given me. 

“Mlle. Armande had hair of tawny gold; there was a deli- 
cate fine down on her cheek, with a silver gleam upon it which 
I loved to catch, putting myself so that I could see the out- 
lines of her face lit up by the daylight, and feel the fascina- 
tion of those dreamy emerald eyes, which sent a flash of fire 
through me whenever they fell upon my face. I used to pre- 
tend to roll on the grass before her in our games, only to try 
to reach her little feet, and admire them on a closer view. 
The soft whiteness of her skin, her delicate features, the 
clearly cut lines of her forehead, the grace of her slender 
figure, took me with a sense of surprise, while as yet I did not 
know that her shape was graceful, nor her brows beautiful, 
nor the outline of her face a perfect oval. I admired as 
children pray at that age, without too clearly understanding 
why they pray. When my piercing gaze attracted her notice, 
when she asked me (in that musical voice of hers, with more 
volume in it, as it seemed to me, than all other voices), ‘What 
are you doing, little one? Why do you look at me?’—I used 
to come nearer and wriggle and bite my finger-nails, and 
redden and say, ‘I do not know.’ And if she chanced to 
stroke my hair with her white hand, and ask me how old I 
was, I would run away and call from a distance, ‘Eleven !’ 

“Every princess and fairy of my visions, as I read the 
Arabian Nights, looked and walked like Mlle. d’Esgrignon ; 
and afterwards, when my drawing-master gave me heads from 
the antique to copy, I noticed that their hair was braided like 
Mile. d’Esgrignon’s. Still later, when the foolish fancies had 
vanished one by one, Mlle. Armande remained vaguely in my 
memory as a type; that Mlle. Armande for whom men made 


156 THH JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


way respectfully, following the tall brown-robed figure with 
their eyes along the Parade and out of sight. Her ex- © 
quisitely graceful form, the rounded curves sometimes revealed 
by a chance gust of wind, and always visible to my eyes in 
spite of the ample folds of stuff, revisited my young man’s 
dreams. Later yet, when I came to think seriously over cer- 
tain mysteries of human thought, it seemed to me that the 
feeling of reverence was first inspired in me by something 
expressed in Mlle. d’Esgrignon’s face and bearing. ‘The won- 
derful calm of her face, the suppressed passion in it, the 
dignity of her movements, the saintly hfe of duties fulfilled, 
—all this touched and awed me. Children are more suscepti- 
ble than people imagine to the subtle influences of ideas; 
they never make game of real dignity; they feel the charm of 
real graciousness, and beauty attracts them, for childhood it- 
self is beautiful, and there are mysterious ties between things 
of the same nature. 

“Mlle. d’Esgrignon was one of my religions. To this day 
I can never climb the staircase of some old manor-house but 
my foolish imagination must needs picture Mlle. Armande 
standing there, like the spirit of feudalism. I can never read 
old chronicles but she appears before my eyes in the shape of 
some famous woman of old times; she is Agnés Sorel, Marie 
Touchet, Gabrielle; and I lend her all the love that was lost 
in her heart, all the love that she never expressed. The 
angel shape seen in glimpses through the haze of childish 
fancies visits me now sometimes across the mists of 
dreams.” ue 

Keep this portrait in mind.} it is a faithful picture and 
sketch of character. Mlle. d’Esgrignon is one of the most in- 
structive figures in this story; she affords an example of the 
mischief that may be done by the purest goodness for lack 
of intelligence. 

‘Two-thirds of the émigrés returned to France during 1804 
and 1805, and almost every exile from the Marquis d’Esgri- 
gnon’s province came back to the land of his fathers. There 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 157 


were certainly defections. Men of good birth entered the 
service of Napoleon, and went into the army or held places 
at the Imperial court, and others made alliances with the 
upstart families. All those who cast in their lots with the 
Hmpire retrieved their fortunes and recovered their estates, 
thanks to the Emperor’s munificence; and these for the most 
part went to Paris and stayed there. But some eight or nine 
families still remained true to the proscribed noblesse and 
loyal to the fallen monarchy. The La Roche-Guyons, 
Nouastres, Verneuils, Castérans, Troisvilles, and the rest were 
some of them rich, some of them poor; but money, more or 
less, scarcely counted for anything among them. ‘They took 
an antiquarian view of themselves; for them the age and 
preservation of the pedigree was the one all-important mat- 
ter; precisely as, for an amateur, the weight of metal in a 
coin is a small matter in comparison with clean lettering, a 
flawless stamp, and high antiquity. Of these families, the 
Marquis d’Esgrignon was the acknowledged head. His house 
became their cénacle. There His Majesty, Emperor and 
King, was never anything but “M. de Bonaparte” ; there “the 
King” meant Louis XVIII., then at Mittau; there the*De- 
partment was still the Province, and the prefecture the im- 
tendance. 

The Marquis was honored among them for his admirable 
behavior, his loyalty as a noble, his undaunted courage; even 
as he was respected throughout the town for his misfortunes, 
his fortitude, his steadfast adherence to his political convic- 
tions. ‘The man so admirable in adversity was invested with 
all the majesty of ruined greatness. His chivalrous fair- 
mindedness was so well known, that litigants many a time had 
referred their disputes to him for arbitration. All gently 
bred Imperalists and the authorities themselves showed as 
much indulgence for his prejudices as respect for his personal 
character; but there was another and a large section of the 
new society which was destined to be known after the Res- 
toration as the Liberal party; and these, with du Croisier as 
their unacknowledged head, laughed at an aristocratic oasis 


158 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


which nobody might enter without proof of irreproachable 
descent. Their animosity was all the more bitter because 
honest country squires and the higher officials, with a good 
many worthy folk in the town, were of the opinion that ali 
the best society thereof was to be found in the Marquis 
d’Esgrignon’s salon. The prefect himself, the Emperor’s 
chamberlain, made overtures to the d’Esgrignons, humbly 
sending his wife (a Grandlieu) as ambassadress. 

Wherefore, those excluded from the miniature provincial 
Faubourg Saint-Germain nicknamed the salon “The Collec- 
tion of Antiquities,’ and called the Marquis himself “M. 
Carol.” The receiver of taxes, for instance, addressed his 
applications to “M. Carol (ci-devant des Grignons),” mali- 
ciously adopting the obsolete way of spelling. 


“For my own part,” said Hmile Blondet, “if I try to recall 
my childhood memories, I remember that the nickname of‘Col- 
lection of Antiquities’ always made me laugh, in spite of 
my respect—my love, I ought to say—for Mlle. d’Esgrignon. 
The Hotel d’Esgrignon stood at the angle of two of the 
busiest thoroughfares in the town, and not five hundred paces 
away from the market place. Two of the drawing-room 
windows looked upon the street and two upon the square; 
the room was like a glass cage, every one who came past could 
look through it from side to side. I was only a boy of twelve 
at the time, but I thought, even then, that the salon was one 
of those rare curiosities which seem, when you come to think 
of them afterwards, to le just on the borderland between 
reality and dreams, so that, you can scarcely tell to which 
side they most belong. 

“The room, the ancient Hall of Audience, stood above a 
row of cellars with grated air-holes, once the prison cells of 
the old court-house, now converted into a kitchen. I do not 
know that the magnificent lofty chimney-piece of the Louvre, 
with its marvelous carving, seemed more wonderful 
to me than the vast open hearth of the salon d’Esgrignon 
when I saw it for the first time. It was covered like a 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 159 


melon with a network of tracery. Over it stood an equestrian 
portrait of Henri III., under whom the ancient duchy of ap- 
panage reverted to the crown; it was a great picture executed 
_ in low relief, and set in a carved and gilded frame. The ceil- 
ing spaces between the chestnut cross-beams in the fine old 
roof were decorated with scroll-work patterns; there was a 
little faded gilding still left along the angles. The walls 
were covered with Flemish tapestry, six scenes from the 
Judgment of Solomon, framed in golden garlands, with satyrs 
and cupids playing among the leaves. The parquet floor 
had been laid down by the present Marquis, and Chesnel had 
picked up the furniture at sales of the wreckage of old cha- 
teaux between 1793 and 1795; so that there were Louis 
Quatorze consoles, tables, clock-cases, andirons, candle-sconces 
and tapestry-covered chairs, which marvelously completed a 
stately room, large out of all proportion to the house. 
Luckily, however, there was an equally lofty ante-chamber, 
the ancient Salle des Pas Perdus of the présidial, which 
communicated likewise with the magistrate’s deliberating 
chamber, used by the d’Esgrignons as a dining-room. 
“Beneath the old paneling, amid the threadbare braveries 
of a bygone day, some eight or ten dowagers were drawn up 
in state in a quavering line; some with palsied heads, others 
dark and shriveled like mummies; some erect and stiff, others 
bowed and bent, but all of them tricked out in more or less 
fantastic costumes as far as possible removed from the fashion 
of the day, with be-ribboned caps above their curled and 
powdered ‘heads,’ and old discolored lace. No painter how- 
ever earnest, no caricature however wild, ever caught the 
haunting fascination of those aged women; they come back to 
me in dreams; their puckered faces shape themselves in 
my memory whenever I meet an old woman who puts me in 
mind of them by some faint resemblance of dress or feature. 
And whether it is that misfortune has initiated me into the 
secrets of irremediable and overwhelming disaster; whether 
that I have come to understand the whole range of human 
feelings, and, best of all, the thoughts of Old Age and Regret ; 


160 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


whatever the reason, nowhere and never again have I seen 
among the living or in the faces of the dying the wan look of 
certain gray eyes that I remember, nor the dreadful bright- 
ness of others that were black. 

“Neither Hoffmann nor Maturin, the two weirdest imagina- 
tions of our time, ever gave me such a thrill of terror as I 
used to feel when I watched the automaton movements of 
those bodies sheathed in whalebone. The paint on actors’ 
. faces never caused me a shock; I could see below it the rouge 
in grain, the rouge de naissance, to quote a comrade at least 
as malicious as I can be. Years had leveled those women’s 
faces, and at the same time furrowed them with wrinkles, till 
they looked like the heads on wooden nutcrackers carved in 
Germany. Peeping in through the window-panes, I gazed at 
the battered bodies, and ill-jointed limbs (how they were 
fastened together, and, indeed, their whole anatomy was a 
mystery I never attempted to explain) ; I saw the lantern jaws, 
the protuberant bones, the abnormal development of the hips; 
and the movements of these figures as they came and went 
seemed to me no whit less extraordinary than their sepulchral 
immobility as they sat round the card-tables. 

“The men looked gray and faded like the ancient tapestries 
on the wall, in dress they were much more like the men of 
the day, but even they were not altogether convincingly alive. 
Their white hair, their withered waxen-hued faces, their de- 
vastated foreheads and pale eyes, revealed their kinship to 
the women, and neutralized any effects of reality borrowed 
from their costume. 

“The very certainty of finding all these folk seated at or 
among the tables every day at the same hours invested them at 
length in my eyes with a sort of spectacular interest as it 
were; there was something theatrical, something unearthly 
about them. 

“Whenever, in after times, | have gone through museums 
of old furniture in Paris, London, Munich, or Vienna, with 
the gray-headed custodian who shows you the splendors of 
time past, I have peopled the rooms with figures from the 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 161 


Collection of Antiquities. Often, as little schoolboys of 
eight or ten we used to propose to go and take a look at 
the curiosities in their glass cage, for the fun of the thing. 
But as soon as I caught sight of Mlle. Armande’s sweet face, 
I used to tremble; and there was a trace of jealousy in my ad- 
miration for the lovely child Victurnien, who belonged, as we 
all instinctively felt, to a different and higher order of being 
from our own. It struck me as something indescribably 
strange that the young fresh creature should be there in that 
cemetery awakened before the time. We could not have ex- 
plained our thoughts to ourselves, yet we felt that we were 
bourgeois and insignificant in the presence of that proud 
court.” 


The disasters of 1813 and 1814, which brought about the 
downfall of Napoleon, gave new life to the Collection of Antiq- 
uities, and what was more than life, the hope of recovering 
their past importance; but the events of 1815, the troubles of 
the foreign occupation, and the vacillating policy of the 
Government until the fall of M. Decazes, all contributed to 
defer the fulfilment of the expectations of the personages so 
vividly described by Blondet. This story, therefore, only be- 
gins to shape itself in 1822. 

In 1822 the Marquis d’Esgrignon’s fortunes had not im- 
proved in spite of the changes worked by the Restoration in 
the condition of émigrés. Of all nobles hardly hit by Revolu- 
tionary legislation, his case was the hardest. Like other 
great families, the d’Esgrignons before 1789 derived the 
greater part of their income from their rights as lords of the 
manor in the shape of dues paid by those who held of them ; 
and, naturally, the old seigneurs had reduced the size of the 
holdings in order to swell the amounts paid in quit-rents and 
heriots. Families in this position were hopelessly ruined. 
They were not affected by the ordinance by which Louis 
XVIII. put the émigrés into possession of such of their lands 
as had not been sold; and at a later date it was impossible 
that the law of indemnity should indemnify them. Their sup- 


162 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


pressed rights, as everybody knows, were revived in the shape 
of a land tax known by the very name of domaines, but the 
money went into the coffers of the State. 

The Marquis by his position belonged to that small section 
of the Royalist party which would hear of no kind of com- 
promise with those whom they styled, not Revolutionaries, but 
revolted subjects, or, in more parliamentary language, they 
had no dealings with Liberals or Constitutionnels. Such 
Royalists, nicknamed Ultras by the opposition, took for 
leaders and heroes those courageous orators of the Right, who 
from the very beginning attempted, with M. de Polignac, to 
protest against the charter granted by Louis XVIII. This 
they regarded as an ill-advised edict extorted from the Crown 
by the necessity of the moment, only to be annulled later on. 
And, therefore, so far from co-operating with the King to 
bring about a new condition of things, the Marquis d’Esgri- 
gnon stood aloof, an upholder of the straitest sect of the 
Right in politics, until such time as his vast fortune should 
be restored to him. Nor did he so much as admit the thought 
of the indemnity which filled the minds of the Villéle minis- 
try, and formed a part of a design of strengthening the 
Crown by putting an end to those fatal distinctions of owner- 
ship which still lingered on in spite of legislation. 

The miracles of the Restoration of 1814, the still greater 
miracle of Napoleon’s return in 1815, the portents of a 
second flight of the Bourbons, and a second reinstatement 
(that almost fabulous phase of contemporary history), all 
these things took the Marquis by surprise at the age of sixty- 
seven. At that time of life, the most high-spirited men of 
their age were not so much vanquished as worn 
out in the struggle with the Revolution; their activity, 
in their remote provincial retreats, had turned into a 
passionately held and immovable conviction; and _ al- 
most all of them were shut in by the enervating, easy round 
of daily hfe in the country. Could worse luck befall a 
political party than this—to be represented by old men at a 
time when its ideas are already stigmatized as old-fashioned ? 


THE JHALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 163 


When the legitimate sovereign appeared to be firmly seated 
on the throne again in 1818, the Marquis asked himself what 
a man of seventy should do at court; and what duties, what 
office he could discharge there? The noble and high-minded 
d’Esgrignon was fain to be content with the triumph of the 
Monarchy and Religion, while he waited for the results of 
that unhoped-for, indecisive victory, which proved to be sim- 
ply an armistice. He continued as before, lord-paramount 
of his salon, so felicitously named the Collection of 
Antiquities. 

But when the victors of 1793 became the vanquished in 
their turn, the nickname given at first in jest began to be used 
in bitter earnest. The town was no more free than other 
country towns from the hatreds and jealousies bred of party 
spirit. Du Croisier, contrary to all expectation, married the 


rich old maid who had refused him at first; carrying her off 


from his rival, the darling of the aristocratic quarter, a cer- 
tain Chevalier whose illustrious name will be sufficiently hid- 
den by suppressing it altogether, in accordance with the 
usage formerly adopted in the place itself, where he was 
known by his title only. He was “the Chevalier” in the 
town, as the Comte d’Artois was ““Monsieur” at court. Now, 
not only had. that marriage produced a war after the pro- 
vincial manner, in which all weapons are fair; it had hastened 
the separation of the great and little noblesse, of the aristo- 
cratic and bourgeois social elements, which had been united 
for a little space by the heavy weight of Napoleonic rule. 
After the pressure was removed, there followed that sudden 
revival of class divisions which did so much harm to the 
country. 

The most national of all sentiments in France is vanity. 
The wounded vanity of the many induced a thirst for 
Equality ; though, as the most ardent innovator will some day 
discover, Equality is an impossibility. The Royalists pricked 
the Liberals in the most sensitive spots, and this happened 
especially in the provinces, where either party accused the 


other of unspeakable atrocities. In those days the blackest 


164 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


deeds were done in politics, to secure public opinion on one 
side or another, to catch the votes of that public of fools 
which holds up hands for those that are clever enough to 
serve out weapons to them. Individuals are identified with 
their political opinions, and opponents in public life forth- 
with become private enemies. It is very difficult in a 
country town to avoid a man-to-man conflict of this kind 
over interests or questions which in Paris appear in a more 
general and theoretical form, with the result that political 
combatants also rise to a higher level; M. Laffitte, for ex- 
ample, or M. Casimir-Périer can respect M. de Villéle or M. 
de Peyronnet asaman. M. Laffitte, who drew the fire on the 
Ministry, would have given them an asylum in his house if 


they had fled thither on the 29th of July 1830. Benjamin 


Constant sent a copy of his work on Religion to the Vicomte 
de Chateaubriand, with a flattering letter acknowledg-, 
ing benefits received from the former Minister. At Paris 
men are systems, whereas in the provinces systems are iden- 
tified with men; men, moreover, with restless passions, who 
must always confront one another, always spy upon each other 
in private life, and pull their opponents’ speeches to pieces, 
and live generally like two duelists on the watch for a chance 
to thrust six inches of steel between an antagonist’s ribs. 
Each must do his best to get under his enemy’s guard, and a 
political. hatred becomes as all-absorbing as a duel to the death. 
Kpigram and slander are used against individuals to 
bring the party into discredit. 

In such warfare as this, waged ceremoniously and without 
rancor on the side of the Antiquities, while du Croisier’s 
faction went so far as to use the poisoned weapons of savages 
—in this warfare the advantages of wit and delicate irony lay 
on the side of the nobles. But it should never be forgotten 
that the wounds made by the tongue and the eyes, by gibe or 
slight, are the last of all to heal. When the Chevalier turned 
his back on mixed society and entrenched himself on the 
Mons Sacer of the aristocracy, his witticisms thenceforward 
were directed at du Croisier’s salon; he stirred up the fires of 


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i 
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THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 165 


war, not knowing how far the spirit of revenge was to urge the 
rival faction. None but purists and loyal gentlemen and wo- 
men sure one of another entered the Hotel d’Esgrignon; 
thev committed no indiscretions of any kind; they had their 
ideas, true or false, good or bad, noble or trivial, but there was 
nothing to laugh at in all this. If the Liberals meant to 
make the nobles ridiculous, they were obliged to fasten on the 
political actions of their opponents; while the intermediate 
party, composed of officials and others who paid court to the 
higher powers, kept the nobles informed of all that was done 
and said in the Liberal camp, and much of it was abundantly 
laughable. Du Croisier’s adherents smarted under a sense of 
inferiority, which increased their thirst for revenge. 

In 1822, du Croisier put himself at the head of the manu- 
facturing interest of the province, as the Marquis d’Esgri- 
gnon headed the noblesse. Hach represented his party. But 
du Croisier, instead of giving himself out frankly for a man 
of the extreme Left, ostensibly adopted the opinions 
formulated at a later day by the 221 deputies. 

By taking up this position, he could keep in touch with 
the magistrates and local officials and the capitalists of the 
department. Du Croisier’s salon, a power at least equal to 
the salon d’Esgrignon, larger numerically, as well as 
younger and more energetic, made itself felt all over the 
countryside ; the Collection of Antiquities, on the other hand, 
remained inert, a passive appendage, as it were, of a central 
authority which was often embarrassed by its own partisans ; 
for not merely did they encourage the Government in a mis- 
taken policy, but some of its most fatal blunders were made in 
consequence of the pressure brought to bear upon it by the 
Conservative party. 

The Liberals, so far, had never contrived to carry their can- 
didate. The department declined to obey their command, 
knowing that du Croisier, if elected, would take his place on 
the Left Centre benches, and as far as possible to the Left. 
Du Croisier was in correspondence with the Brothers Keller, 
the bankers, the oldest of whom shone conspicuous among 


166 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


“the nineteen deputies of the Left,” that phalanx made 
famous by the efforts of the entire Liberal press. This same 
M. Keller, moreover, was related by marriage to the Comte 
de Gondreville, a Constitutional peer who remained in favor 
with Louis XVIII. For these reasons, the Constitutional Op- 
position (as distinct from the Liberal party) was always pre- 
pared to vote at the last moment, not for the candidate whom 
they professed to support, but for du Croisier, if that worthy 
could succeed in gaining a sufficient number of Royalist 
votes; but at every election du Croisier was regularly thrown 
out by the Royalists. The leaders of that party, taking their 
tone from the Marquis d’Esgrignon, had pretty thoroughly 
fathomed and gauged their man; and with each defeat, du 
Croisier and his party waxed more bitter. Nothing so effect- - 
ually stirs up strife as the failure of some snare set with 
elaborate pains. 

In 1822 there seemed to be a lull in hostilities which had 
been kept up with great spirit during the first four years of 
the Restoration. The salon du Croisier and the salon 
d’Esgrignon, having measured their strength and weakness, 
were in all probability waiting for opportunity, that Provi- 
dence of party strife. Ordinary persons were content with 
the surface quiet which deceived the Government; but those 
who knew du Croisier better, were well aware that the passion 
of revenge in him, as in all men whose whole life consists in 
mental activity, is implacable, especially when political ambi- 
tions are involved. About this time du Croisier, who used 
to turn white and red at the bare mention of d’Esgrignon 
or the Chevalier, and shuddered at the name of the Collection 
of Antiquities, chose to wear the impassive countenance of 
a savage. He smiled upon his enemies, hating them but the 
more deeply, watching them the more narrowly from hour to 
hour. One of his own party, who seconded him in these eal- 
culations of cold wrath, was the President of the Tribunal, 
M. du Ronceret, a little country squire, who had vainly en- 
deavored to gain admittance among the Antiquities. 

The d’Esgrignons’ little fortune, carefully administered by 


ee ee a 
ss 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 167 - 


a 
Maitre Chesnel, was barely sufficient for the worthy Marquis’ 
needs; for though he lived without the shghtest ostentation, 
he also lived like a noble. The governor found by his Lord- 
ship the Bishop for the hope of the house, the young Comte 
Victurnien d’Hsgrignon, was an elderly Oratorian who must 
be paid a certain salary, although he lived with the family. 
The wages of a cook, a waiting-woman for Mlle. Armande, an 
old valet for M. le Marquis, and a couple of other servants, 
together with the daily expenses of the household, and the 
cost of an education for which nothing was spared, absorbed 
the whole family income, in spite of Mlle. Armande’s 
economies, in spite of Chesnel’s careful management, and the 
servants’ affection. As yet, Chesnel had not been able to set 
about repairs at the ruined castle; he was waiting till the 
leasess fell in to raise the rent of the farms, for rents had 
been rising lately, partly on account of improved methods 
of agriculture, partly by the fall in the value of money, of 
which the landlord would get the benefit at the expiration of 
leases granted in 1809. 

The Marquis himself knew nothing of the details of the 
management of the house or of his property. He would 
have been thunderstruck if he had been told of the excessive 
precautions needed “to make both ends of the year meet in 
December,” to use the housewife’s saying, and he was so near 
the end of his life, that every one shrank from opening his 
eyes. ‘The Marquis and his adherents believed that a House, 
to whichno one at Court orin the Government gave a thought, 
a House that was never heard of beyond the gates of the 
town, save here and there in the same department, was about 
to revive its ancient greatness, to shine forth in all its glory. 
The d’Esgrignons’ line should appear with renewed lustre in 
the person of Victurnien, just as the despoiled nobles came 
into their own again, and the handsome heir to a great estate 
would be in a position to go to Court, enter the King’s ser- 
vice, and marry (as other d’Esgrignons had done before him) 
a Navarreins, a Cadignan, a d’Uxelles, a Beauséant, a 
Blamont-Chauvry; a wife, in short, who should unite all 


168 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


the distinctions of birth and beauty, wit and wealth, and 
character. 

The intimates who came to play their game of cards of 
an evening—the Troisvilles (pronounced Tréville), the La 
Roche-Guyons, the Castérans (pronounced Catéran), and the 
Due de Verneuil—had all so long been accustomed to look 
up to the Marquis as a person of immense consequence, that 
they encouraged him in such notions as these. They were 
perfectly sincere in their belief; and indeed, it would have 
been well founded if they could have wiped out the history of 
the last forty years. But the most honorable and undoubted 
sanctions of right, such as Louis XVIII. had tried to 
set on record when he dated the Charter from the one-and- 
twentieth year of his reign, only exist when ratified by the 
general consent. The d’Esgrignons not only lacked the very 
rudiments of the language of latter-day politics, to wit, 
money, the great modern relief, or sufficient rehabilitation 
of nobility ; but, in their case, too, “historical continuity” was 
lacking, and that is a kind of renown which tells quite as 
much at Court as on the battlefield, in diplomatic circles as 
in Parliament, with a book, or in connection with an ad- 
venture; it is, as it were, a sacred ampulla poured upon the 
heads of each successive generation. Whereas a noble family, 
inactive and forgotten, is very much in the position of a hard- 
featured, poverty-stricken, simple-minded, and virtuous maid, 
these qualifications being the four cardinal points of mis- 
fortune. The marriage of a daughter of the Troisvilles with 
General Montcornet, so far from opening the eyes of the 
Antiquities, very nearly brought about a rupture between 
the Troisvilles and the salon d’Esgrignon, the latter declaring 
that the Troisvilles were mixing themselves up with all sorts 
of people. 

There was one, and one only, among all these folk who did 
not share their illusions. And that one, needless to say, was 
Chesnel the notary. Although his devotion, sufficiently 
proved already, was simply unbounded for the great house 
now reduced to three persons; although he accepted all their 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 169 


ideas, and thought them nothing less than right, he had too 
much common sense, he was too good a man of business to 
more than half the families in the department, to miss the 
significance of the great changes that were taking place in 
people’s minds, or to be blind to the different conditions 
brought about by industrial development and modern man- 
ners. He had watched the Revolution pass through the 
violent phase of 1793, when men, women, and children wore 
arms, and heads feli on the scaffold, and victories were won 
in pitched battles with Europe; and now he saw the same 
forces quietly at work in men’s minds, in the shape of ideas 
which sanctioned the issues. The soil had been cleared, the 
seed sown, and now came the harvest. To his thinking, the 
Revolution had formed the mind of the younger generation ; 
he touched the hard facts, and knew that although there were 
countless unhealed wounds, what had been done was done 
past recall. The death of a king on the scaffold, the pro- 
tracted agony of a queen, the division of the nobles’ lands, in 
his eyes were so many binding contracts; and where so many 
vested interests were involved, it was not likely that those 
concerned would allow them to be attacked. Chesnel saw 
clearly. His fanatical attachment to the d’Hsgrignons was 
whole-hearted, but it was not blind, and it was all the fairerfor 
this. The young monk’s faith that sees heaven laid open and 
beholds the angels, is something far below the power of the 
old monk who points them out to him. The ex-steward was 
like the old monk; he would have given his life to defend a 
worm-eaten shrine. 

He tried to explain the “innovations” to his old master, 
using a thousand tactful precautions; sometimes speaking 
jestingly, sometimes affecting surprise or sorrow over this or 
that ; but he always met the same prophetic smile on the Mar- 
quis’ lips, the same fixed conviction in the Marquis’ mind, 
that these follies would go by like others. Events con- 
tributed in a way which has escaped attention to assist such 
noblechampionsof forlorn hope to cling to their superstitions. 
What could Chesnel do when the old Marquis said, with a 


170 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


lordly gesture, “God swept away Bonaparte with his armies, 
his new great vassals, his crowned kings, and his vast con- 
ceptions! God will deliver us from the rest.” And Chesnel 
hung his head sadly, and did not dare to answer, “It cannot 
be God’s will to sweep away France.” Yet both of them were 
grand figures; the one, standing out against the torrent of 
facts like an ancient block of lichen-covered granite, still up- 
right in the depths of an Alpine gorge; the other, watching 
the course of the flood to turn it to account. Then the 
good gray-headed notary would groan over the irreparable 
havoe which the superstitions were sure to work in the mind, 
the habits, and ideas of the Comte Victurnien d’Esgrignon. 
Idolized by his father, idolized by his aunt, the young heir 
was a spoilt child in every sense of the word; but still a spoilt 
child who justified paternal and maternal illusions. 
Maternal, be it said, for Victurnien’s aunt was truly a mother 
to him; and yet, however careful and tender she may be that 
never bore a child, there is a something lacking in her mother- 
hood. A mother’s second sight cannot be acquired. An 
aunt, bound to her nursling by ties of such a pure affection as 
united Mile. Armande to Victurnien, may love as much as a 
mother might; may be as careful, as kind, as tender, as in- 
dulgent, but she lacks the mother’s instinctive knowledge 
when and how to be severe; she has no sudden warnings, none 
of the uneasy presentiments of the mother’s heart; for a 
mother, bound to her child from the beginnings of life by all 
the fibres of her being, still is conscious of the communica- 
tion, still vibrates with the shock of every trouble, and thrills 
with every joy in the child’s life as if it were her own. If 
Nature has made of woman, physically speaking, a neutral 
ground, it has not been forbidden to her, under certain condi- 
tions, to identify herself completely with her offspring. When 
she has not merely given life, but given of her whole life, you 
behold that wonderful, unexplained, and inexplicable thing— 
the love of a woman for one of her children above the others. 
The outcome of this story is one more proof of a proven truth 
—a mother’s place cannot be filled. A mother foresees 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 171 


danger long before a Mlle. Armande can admit the possibility 
of it, even if the mischief is done. The one prevents the 
evil, the other remedies it. And besides, in the maiden’s 
motherhood there is an element of blind adoration, she can- 
not bring herself to scold a beautiful boy. 

A practical knowledge of life, and the experience of 
business, had taught the old notary a habit of distrustful 
clear-sighted observation something akin to the mother’s in- 
stinct. But Chesnel counted for so little in the house (es- 
pecially since he had fallen into something like disgrace over 
that unlucky project of a marriage between a d’Esgrignon 
and a du Croisier), that he had made up his mind to adhere 
blindly in future to the family doctrines. He was a common 
soldier, faithful to his post, and ready to give his hfe; it was 
never likely that they would take his advice, even in the 
height of the storm; unless chance should bring him, like 
the King’s bedesman in The Antiquary, to the edge of the 
sea, when the old baronet and his daughter were caught by the 
nigh tides ies 

Du Croisier caught a glimpse of his revenge in the anom- 
alous education given to the lad. He hoped, to quote the ex- 
pressive words of the author quoted above, “to drown the lamb 
in its mother’s milk.” This was the hope which had pro- 
duced his taciturn resignation and brought that savage smile 
on his lips. 

The young Comte Victurnien was taught to believe in his 
own supremacy as soon as an idea could enter his head. All 
the great nobles of the realm were his peers, his one superior 
was the King, and the rest of mankind were his inferiors, 
people with whom he had nothing in common, towards whom 
he had no duties. They were defeated and conquered ene- 
mies, whom he need not take into account for a moment; 
their opinions could not affect a noble, and they all owed him 
respect. Unluckily, with the rigorous logic of youth, which 
leads children and young people to proceed to extremes 
whether good or bad, Victurnien pushed these conclusions to 
their utmost consequences. His own external advantages, 


172 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


moreover, confirmed him in his beliefs. He had been extra- 
ordinarily beautiful as a child; he became as accomplished a 
young man as any father could wish. 

He was of average height, but well proportioned, slender, 
and almost delicate-looking, but muscular. He had the 
brilliant blue eyes of the d’Esgrignons, the finely-moulded 
aquiline nose, the perfect oval of the face, the auburn hair, 
the white skin, and the graceful gait of his family; he had 
their delicate extremities, their long taper fingers with the 
inward curve, and that peculiar distinction of shapeliness of 
the wrist and instep, that supple felicity of line, which is as 
sure a sign of race in men as in horses. Adroit and alert in 
all bodily exercises, and an excellent shot, he handled arms 
like a St. George, he was a paladin on horseback. In short, 
he gratified the pride which parents take in their children’s 
appearance; a pride founded, for that matter, on a just idea 
of the enormous influence exercised by physical beauty. FPer- 
sonal beauty has this in common with noble birth: it cannot be 
acquired afterwards; it is everywhere recognized, and often is 
more valued than either brains or money; beauty has only 
to appear and triumph; nobody asks more of beauty than that 
it should simply exist. 

Fate had endowed Victurnien, over and above the privi- 
leges of good looks and noble birth, with a high spirit, a won- 
derful aptitude of comprehension, and a good memory. His 
education, therefore, had been complete. He knew a good 
deal more than is usually known by young provincial nobles, 
who develop into highly-distinguished sportsmen, owners of 
land, and consumers of tobacco; and are apt to treat art, 
sciences, letters, poetry, or anything offensively above their in- 
tellects, cavalierly enough. Such gifts of nature and educa- 
tion surely would one day realize the Marquis d’Esgrignon’s 
ambitions; he already saw his son a Marshal of France if 
Victurnien’s tastes were for the army; an ambassador if 
. diplomacy held any attractions for him; a cabinet minister if 
that career seemed good in his eyes; every place in the state 
belonged to Victurnien. And, most gratifying thought of all 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 173 


for a father, the young Count would have made his way in the 
world by his own merits even if he had not been a d’Hs- 
grignon. 

All through his happy childhood and golden youth, Vic- 
turnien had never met with opposition to his wishes. He 
had been the king of the house; no one curbed the little 
prince’s will; and naturally he grew up insolent and au- 
dacious, selfish as a prince, self-willed as the most high-spir- 
ited cardinal of the Middle Ages,—defects of character which 
any one might guess from his qualities, essentially those of 
the noble. 

The Chevalier was a man of the good old times when the 
Gray Musketeers were the terror of the Paris theatres, when 
they horsewhipped the watch and drubbed servers of writs, 
and played a host of page’s pranks, at which Majesty was wont 
to smile so long as they were amusing. ‘This charming de- 
ceiver and hero of the rwelles had no small share in bringing 
about the disasters which afterwards befell. The amiable old 
gentleman, with nobody to understand him, was not a little 
pleased to find a budding Faublas, who looked the part to 
admiration, and put him in mind of his own young days. So, 
making no allowance for the difference of the times, he sowed 
the maxims of a roué of the Encyclopedic period broadcast in 
the boy’s mind. He told wicked anecdotes of the reign of His 
Majesty Louis X V.; he glorified the manners and customs of 
the year 1750; he told of the orgies in petites maisons, the fol- 
lies of courtesans, the capital tricks played on creditors, the 
manners, in short, which furnished forth Dancourt’s come- 
dies and Beaumarchais’ epigrams. And unfortunately, the 
corruption lurking beneath the utmost polish tricked itself 
out in Voltairean wit. If the Chevalier went rather too far at 
times, he always added as a corrective that a man must always 
behave himself like a gentleman. 

Of all this discourse, Victurnien comprehended just so 
much as flattered his passions. From the first he saw his old 
father laughing with the Chevalier. The two elderly men 
considered that the pride of a d’Hsgrignon was a sufficient 


174 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


safeguard against anything unbefitting; as for a dishonorable | 
action, no one in the house imagined that a d’Esgrignon could 
be guilty of it. Honor, the great principle of Monarchy, was 
planted firm like a beacon in the hearts of the family; it 
lighted up the least action, it kindled the least thought of a 
d’Esgrignon. “A dEsgrignon ought not to permit himself 
to do such and such a thing,; he bears a name. which pledges 
him to make the future worthy of the past”—-a noble teaching 
which should have been sufficient in itself to keep alive the 
tradition of noblesse—had been, as it were, the burden of Vic- 
turnien’s cradle song. He heard them from the old Marquis, 
from Mlle. Armande, from Chesnel, from the intimates of 
the house. And so it came to pass that good and evil met, 
and in equal forces, in the boy’s soul. 

At the age of eighteen, Victurnien went into society. He 
noticed some slight discrepancies between the outer world of 
the town and the inner world of the Hotel d’Esgrignon, but 
he in no wise tried to seek the causes of them. And, indeed, 
the causes were to be found in Paris. He had yet to learn 
that the men who spoke their minds out so boldly in evening 
talk with his father, were extremely careful of what they said 
in the presence of the hostile persons with whom their inter- 
ests compelled them to mingle. His own father had won the 
right of freedom of speech. Nobody dreamed of contradicting 
an old man of seventy, and besides, every one was willing to 
overlook fidelity to the old order of things in a man who had 
been violently despoiled. 

Victurnien was deceived by appearances, and his behavior 
set up the backs of the townspeople. In his impetuous way 
he tried to carry matters with too high a hand over some diffi- 
culties in the way of sport, which ended in formidable law- 
suits, hushed up by Chesnel for money paid down. Nobody 
dared to tell the Marquis of these things. You may judge of 
his astonishment if he had heard that his son had been prose- 
cuted for shooting over his lands, his domains, his covers, 
under the reign of a son of St. Louis! People were too much 
afraid of the possible consequences to tell him about such 
trifles, Chesnel said. 


THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 175 


The young Count indulged in other escapades in the town. 
These the Chevalier regarded as “amourettes,’ but they cost 
Chesnel something considerable in portions for forsaken dam- 
sels seduced under imprudent promises of marriage: yet other 
cases there were which came under an article of the Code as to 
the abduction of minors; and but for Chesnel’s timely inter- 
vention, the new law would have been allowed to take its 
brutal course, and it is hard to say where the Count might 
have ended. Victurnien grew the bolder for these victories 
over bourgeois justice. He was so accustomed to be pulled out 
of scrapes, that he never thought twice before any prank. 
Courts of law, in his opinion, were bugbears to frighten people 
who had no hold on him. Things which he would have 
blamed in common people were for him only pardonable 
amusements. THis disposition to treat the new laws cavalierly 
while obeying the maxims of a Code for aristocrats, his be- 
havior and character, were all pondered, analyzed, and tested 
by a few adroit persons in du Croisier’s interests. These folk 
supported each other in the effort to make the people believe 
that Liberal slanders were revelations, and that the Minis- 
terial policy at bottom meant a return to the old order of 
things. 

What a bit of luck to find something by way of proof of 
their assertions! President du Ronceret, and the public pros- 
ecutor likewise, lent themselves admirably, so far as was com- 
patible with their duty as magistrates, to the design of letting 
off the offender as easily as possible ; indeed, they went deliber- 
ately out of their way to do this, well pleased to raise a Liberal 
clamor against their overlarge concessions. And so, while 
seeming to serve the interests of the d’Esgrignons, they stirred 
up ill feeling against them. The treacherous du Ronceret had 
it in his mind to pose as incorruptible at the right moment 
over some serious charge, with public opinion to back him up. 
The young Count’s worst tendencies, moreover, were insidi- 
ously encouraged by two or three young men who followed in 
his train, paid court to him, won his favor, and flattered and 
obeyed him, with a view to confirming his belief in a noble’s 


176 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


supremacy; and all this at a time when a noble’s one chance 
of preserving his power lay in using it with the utmost discre- 
tion for half a century to come. 

Du Croisier hoped to reduce the d’Esgrignons to the last 
extremity of poverty; he hoped to see their castle demolished, 
and their lands sold piecemeal by auction, through the follies 
which this harebrained boy was pretty certain to commit. 
This was as far as he went; he did not think, with President 
du Ronceret, that Victurnien was likely to give justice another 
kind of hold upon him. Both men found an ally for their 
schemes of revenge in Victurnien’s overweening vanity and 
love of pleasure. President du Ronceret’s son, a lad of sev- 
enteen, was admirably fitted for the part of instigator. He 
was one of the Count’s companions, a new kind of spy in du 
Croisier’s pay; du Croisier taught him his lesson, set him to 
track down the noble and beautiful boy through his better 
qualities, and sardonically prompted him to encourage his 
victim in his worst faults. Fabien du Ronceret was a sophis- 
ticated youth, to whom such a mystification was attractive ; he 
had precisely the keen brain and envious nature which finds 
in such a pursuit as this the absorbing amusement which a 
man of an ingenious turn lacks in the provinces. 

In three years, between the ages of eighteen and one-and- 
twenty, Victurnien cost poor Chesnel nearly eighty thousand 
francs! And this without the knowledge of Mlle. Ar- 
mande or the Marquis. More than half of the money had 
been spent in buying off lawsuits; the lad’s extravagance had 
squandered the rest. Of the Marquis’ income of ten thousand 
livres, five thousand were necessary for the housekeeping ; 
two thousand more represented Mlle. Armande’s allowance 
(parsimonious though she was) and the Marquis’ expenses. 
The handsome young heir-presumptive, therefore, had not a 
hundred louis to spend. And what sort of figure can a man 
make on two thousand livres? Victurnien’s tailor’s bills alone 
absorbed his whole allowance. He had his linen, his clothes, 
gloves, and perfumery from Paris. He wanted a good English 
saddle-horse, a tilbury, and a second horse. M. du Croisier 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 177 


had a tilbury and a thoroughbred. Was the bourgeoisie to cut 
out the noblesse? Then, the young Count must have a man 
in the d’Esgrignon livery. He prided himself on setting the 
fashion among young men in the town and the department ; 
he entered that world of luxuries and fancies which suit youth 
and good looks and wit so well. Chesnel paid for it all, not 
without using, like ancient parliaments, the right of protest, 
albeit he spoke with angelic kindness. 

“What a pity it is that so good a man should be so tire- 
some!” Victurnien would say to himself every time that the 
notary staunched some wound in his purse. 

Chesnel had been left a widower, and childless; he had 
taken his old master’s son to fill the void in his heart. It 
was a pleasure to him to watch the lad driving up the High 
Street, perched aloft on the box-seat of the tilbury, whip in 
hand, and a rose in his button-hole, handsome, well turned 
out, envied by every one. 

Pressing need would bring Victurnien with uneasy eyes and 
coaxing manner, but steady voice, to the modest house in the 
Rue du Bereail; there had been losses at cards at the Trois- 
villes, or the Due de Verneuil’s, or the prefecture, or the 
receiver-general’s, and the Count had come to his providence, 
the notary. He had only to show himself to carry the day. 

“Well, what is it, M. le Comte? What has happened?” the 
old man would ask, with a tremor in his voice. 

On great occasions Victurnien would sit down, assume a 
melancholy, pensive expression, and submit with little co- 
quetries of voice and gesture to be questioned. Then when 
he had thoroughly roused the old man’s fears (for Chesnel 
was beginning to fear how such a course of extravagance 
would end), he would own up to a peccadillo which a bill for a 
thousand francs would absolve. Chesnel possessed a private 
income of some twelve thousand livres, but the fund was not 
inexhaustible. The eighty thousand francs thus squandered 
represented his savings, accumulated for the day when the 
Marquis should send his son to Paris, or open negotiations for 
a wealthy marriage. 


178 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


Chesnel was clear-sighted so long as Victurnien was not 
there before him. One by one he lost the illusions which the 
Marquis and his sister still fondly cherished. He saw that the 
young fellow could not be depended upon in the least, and 
wished to see him married to some modest, sensible girl of 
good birth, wondering within himself how a young man could 
mean so well and do so ill, for he made promises one day only 
to break them all on the next. 

But there is never any good to be expected of young men 
who confess their sins and repent, and straightway fall into 
them again. A man of strong character only confesses his 
faults to himself, and punishes himself for them; as for the 
weak, they drop back into the old ruts when they find that 
the bank is too steep to climb. The springs of pride which lie 
in a great man’s secret soul had been slackened in Victurnien. 
With such guardians as he had, such company as he kept, 
such a life as he had led, he had suddenly become an enervated 
voluptuary at that turning-point in his life when a man most 
stands in need of the harsh discipline of misfortune and 
poverty to bring out the strength that is in him, the pinch of 
adversity which formed a Prince Eugéne, a Frederick II., a 
Napoleon. Chesnel saw that Victurnien possessed that un- 
controllable appetite for enjoyments which should be the pre- 
rogative of men endowed with giant powers; the men who feel 
the need of counterbalancing their gigantic labors by pleasures 
which bring one-sided mortals to the pit. 

At times the good man stood aghast; then, again, some 
profound sally, some sign of the lad’s remarkable range of in- 
tellect, would reassure him. He would say, as the Marquis 
said at the rumor of some escapade, “Boys will be boys.” 
Chesnel had spoken to the Chevalier, lamenting the young 
lord’s propensity for getting into debt; but the Chevalier 
manipulated his pinch of snuff, and hstened with a smile of 
amusement. 

“My dear Chesnel, just explain to me what a national debt 
is,’ he answered. “If France has debts, egad! why should 
not Victurnien have debts? At this time and at all times 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 179 


princes have debts, every gentleman has debts. Perhaps you 
would rather that Victurnien should bring you his savings >— 
Do you know what our great Richelieu (not the Cardinal, a 
pitiful fellow that put nobles to death, but the Maréchal), do 
you know what he did once when his grandson the Prince de 
Chinon, the last of the line, let him see that he had not spent 
his pocket-money at the University ?” 

“No, M. le Chevalier.” 

“Oh, well; he flung the purse out of the window to a 
sweeper in the courtyard, and said to his grandson, “Then 
they do not teach you to be a prince here?’ ” 

Chesnel bent his head and made no answer. But that night, 
as he lay awake, he thought that such doctrines as these were 
fatal in times when there was one law for everybody, and fore- 
saw the first beginnings of the ruin of the d’Esgrignons. 


But for these explanations which depict one side of pro- 
vincial life in the time of the Empire and the Restoration, it 
would not be easy to understand the opening scene of this 
history, an incident which took place in the great salon one 
evening towards the end of October 1822. The card-tables 
were forsaken, the Collection of Antiquities—elderly nobles, 
elderly countesses, young marquises, and simple baronesses— 
had settled their losses and winnings. The master of the house 
was pacing up and down the room, while Mlle. Armande was 
putting out the candles on the card-tables. He was not tak- 
ing exercise alone, the Chevalier was with him, and the two 
wrecks of the eighteenth century were talking of Victurnien. 
The Chevalier had undertaken to broach the subject with 
the Marquis. 

“Yes, Marquis,” he was saying, “your son is wasting his 
time and his youth; you ought to send him to court.” 

“T have always thought,” said the Marquis, “that if my 
great age prevents me from going to court—where, between 
ourselves, I do not know what I should do among all these 
new people whom His Majesty receives, and all that is going 
on there—that if I could not go myself, I could at least send 


180 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


my son to present our homage to His Majesty. The King 
surely would do something for the Count—give him a com- 
pany, for instance, or a place in the Household, a chance, in 
short, for the boy to win his spurs. My uncle the Archbishop 
suffered a cruel martyrdom; I have fought for the cause with- 
out deserting the camp with those who thought it their duty 
to follow the Princes. I held that while the King was in 
France, his nobles should rally round him.—Ah! well, no one 
gives us a thought; a Henri IV. would have written before 
now to the d’Esgrignons, ‘Come to me, my friends; we have 
won the day !—After all, we are something better than the 
Troisvilles, yet here are two Troisvilles made peers of France; 
and another, I hear, represents the nobles in the Chamber.” — 
(He took the upper electoral colleges for assemblies of his 
own order.) “Really, they think no more of us than if we did 
not exist. I was waiting for the Princes to make their journey 
through this part of the world; but as the Princes do not come 
to us, we must go to the Princes.” 

“T am enchanted to learn that you think of introducing our 
dear Victurnien into society,” the Chevalier put in adroitly. 
“He ought not to bury his talents in a hole like this town. 
The best fortune that he can look for here is to come across 
some Norman girl” (mimicking the accent), “country-bred, 
stupid, and rich. What could he make of her?—his wife? 
Oh! good Lord!” 

“T sincerely hope that he will defer his marriage until he 
has obtained some great office or appointment under the 
Crown,” returned the gray-haired Marquis. “Still, there are 
serious difficulties in the way.” 

And these were the only difficulties which the Marquis saw 
at the outset of his son’s career. 

“My son, the Comte d’Esgrignon, cannot make his appear- 
ance at court like a tatterdemalion,” he continued after a 
pause, marked by a sigh; “he must be equipped. Alas! for 
these two hundred years we have had no retainers. Ah! 
Chevalier, this demolition from top to bottom always brings 
me back to the first hammer stroke delivered by M. de Mira- 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 181 


beau. The one thing needful nowadays is money; that is all 
that the Revolution has done that I can see. The King does 
not ask you whether you are a descendant of the Valois or a 
conquerer of Gaul; he asks whether you pay a thousand francs 
in tailles which nobles never used to pay. So I cannot well 
send the Count to court without a matter of twenty thousand 
crowns ‘é 

“Yes,” assented the Chevalier, “with that trifling sum he 
could cut a brave figure.” 

“Well,” said Mlle. Armande, “I have asked Chesnel to come 
to-night. Would you believe it, Chevalier, ever since the day 
when Chesnel proposed that I should marry that miserable du 
Croisier nf 

“Ah! that was truly unworthy, mademoiselle!” cried the 
Chevalier. 

“Unpardonable!” said the Marquis. 

“Well, since then my brother has never brought himself to 
ask anything whatsoever of Chesnel,” continued Mlle. Ar- 
mande. 

“Of your old household servant? Why, Marquis, you would 
do Chesne! honor—an honor which he would gratefully re- 
member till his latest breath.” 

“No,” said the Marquis, “the thing is beneath one’s dignity, 
it seems to me.” 

“There is not much question of dignity; it is a matter of 
necessity,” said the Chevalier; with the trace of a shrug. 

“Never,” said the Marquis, riposting with a gesture which 
decided the Chevalier to risk a great stroke to open his old 
friend’s eyes. 

“Very well,” he said, “since you do not know it, I will tell 
you myself that Chesnel has let your son have something al- 
ready, something like ‘i | 

“My son is incapable of accepting anything whatever from 
Chesnel,” the Marquis broke in, drawing himself up as he 
spoke. “He might have come to you to ask you for twenty- 
five louis fi 

“Something like a hundred thousand livres,” said the 
Chevalier, finishing his sentence. 














182 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


“The Comte d’Esgrignon owes a hundred thousand livres. 


to a Chesnel!’’ cried the Marquis, with every sign of deep 
pain. “Oh! if he were not an only son, he should set out to- 
night for Mexico with a captain’s commission. A man may 
be in debt to money-lenders, they charge a heavy interest, and 
you are quits; that is right enough; but Chesnel/ a man to 
whom one is attached ! af 

“Yes, our adorable Victurnien has run through a hundred 
thousand livres, dear Marquis,” resumed the Chevalier, flick- 
ing a trace of snuff from his waistcoat; “it is not much, I 
know. I myself at his age But, after all, let us let old 
memories be, Marquis. The Count is living in the provinces ; 
all things taken into consideration, it is not so much amiss. 
He will not go far; these irregularities are common in men 
who do great things afterwards ‘i 

“And he is sleeping upstairs, without a word of this to his 
father,” exclaimed the Marquis. 

“Sleeping innocently as a child who has merely got five or 
six little bourgeoises into trouble, and now must have duch- 
esses,’ returned the Chevalier. 

“Why, he deserves a lettre de cachet !”’ 

“<“They’ have done away with lettres de cachet,’ said the 
Chevalier. “You know what a hubbub there was when they 
tried to institute a law for special cases. We could not keep 
the provost’s courts, which M. de Bonaparte used to call com- 
missions militaires.” 

“Well, well; what are we to do if our boys are wild, or turn 
out scapegraces? Is there no locking them up in these days ?” 
asked the Marquis. 

The Chevalier looked at the heartbroken father and lacked 
courage to answer, “We shall be obliged to bring them up 
properly.” 

“And you have never said a word of this to me, Mlle. d’Es- 
grignon,” added the Marquis, turning suddenly round upon 
Mile. Armande. He never addressed her as Mlle. d’Ksgrignon 
except when he was vexed ; usually she was called “my sister.” 

“Why, monsieur, when a young man is full of life and 











THE JEALOUSIBS OF A COUNTRY TOWN 183 


spirits, and leads an idle life in a town like this, what else 
can you expect?” asked Mlle. d’Esgrignon. She could not 
understand her brother’s anger. 

“Debts! eh! why, hang it all!” added the Chevalier. “He 
plays cards, he has little adventures, he shoots,—all these 
things are horribly expensive nowadays.” 

“Come,” said the Marquis, “it is time to send him to the 
King. I will spend to-morrow morning in writing to our 
kinsmen.” 

“T have some acquaintance with the Ducs de Navarreins, de 
Lenoncourt, de Maufrigneuse, and de Chaulieu,” said the 
Chevalier, though he knew, as he spoke, that he was pretty 
thoroughly forgotten. 

“My dear Chevalier, there is no need of such formalities to 
present a d’Esgrignon at court,” the Marquis broke in.—‘“A 
hundred thousand livres,” he muttered; “this Chesnel makes 
very free. This is what comes of these accursed troubles. 
M. Chesnel protects my son. And now J must ask him. 

No, sister, you must undertake this business. Chesnel 
shall secure himself for the whole amount by a mortgage on 
our lands. And just give this harebrained boy a good scold- 
ing; he will end by ruining himself if he goes on like this.” 

The Chevalier and Mlle. d’Esgrignon thought these words 
perfectly simple and natural, absurd as they would have 
sounded to any other listener. So far from seeing anything 
ridiculous in the speech, they were both very much touched 
by a look of something like anguish in the old noble’s face. 
Some dark premonition seemed to weigh upon M. d’Hs- 
grignon at that moment, some glimmering of an insight into 
the changed times. He went to the settee by the fireside and 
sat down, forgetting that Chesnel would be there before long ; 
that Chesnel, of whom he could not bring himself to ask any- 
thing. 

Just then the Marquis d’Esgrignon looked exactly as any 
imagination with a touch of romance could wish. He was 
almost bald, but a fringe of silken, white locks, curled at the 
tips, covered the back of his head. All the pride of race might 


184 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


be seen in a noble forehead, such as you may admire in a - 
Louis XV., a Beaumarchais, a Maréchal de Richelieu; it was 
not the square, broad brow of the portraits of the Maréchal 
_de Saxe; nor yet the small hard circle of Voltaire, compact 
to overfulness ; it was graciously rounded and finely moulded, 
the temples were ivory tinted and soft; and mettle and spirit, 
unquenched by age, flashed from the brilliant eyes. The 
Marquis had the Condé nose and the lovable Bourbon mouth, 
from which, as they used to say of the Comte d’Artois, only 
witty and urbane words proceed. His cheeks, sloping rather 
than foolishly rounded to the chin, were in keeping with his 
spare frame, thin legs, and plump hands. The strangulation 
cravat at his throat was of the kind which every marquis wears 
in all the portraits which adorn eighteenth century literature ; 
it is common alike to Saint-Preux and to Lovelace, to the 
elegant Montesquieu’s heroes and to Diderot’s homespun char- 
acters (see the first editions of those writers’ works). 

The Marquis always wore a white, gold-embroidered, high 
waistcoat, with the red ribbon of a commander of the Order of 
St. Louis blazing upon his breast; and a blue coat with wide 
skirts, and fleurs-de-lys on the flaps, which were turned back— 
an odd costume which the King had adopted. But the 
Marquis could not bring himself to give up the Frenchman’s 
knee-breeches nor yet the white silk stockings or the buckles 
at the knees. After six o’clock in the evening he appeared in 
full dress. 

He read no newspapers but the Quotidienne and the Gazette 
de France, two journals accused by the Constitutional press 
of obscurantist views and uncounted “monarchical and re- 
ligious” enormities; while the Marquis d’Esgrignon, on the 
other hand, found heresies and revolutionary doctrines in 
every issue. No matter to what extremes the organs of this 
or that opinion may go, they will never go quite far enough 
to please the purists on their own’side; even as the portrayer 
of this magnificent personage is pretty certain to be accused 
of exaggeration, whereas he has done his best to soften down 
some of the cruder tones and dim the more startling tints of 
the original. 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 185 


The Marquis d’Esgrignon rested his elbows on his knees and 
leant his head on his hands. During his meditations Mlle. 
Armande and the Chevalier looked at one another without 
uttering the thoughts in their minds. Was he pained by the 
discovery that his son’s future must depend upon his sometime 
land steward? Was he doubtful of the reception awaiting 
the young Count? Did he regret that he had made no prepara- 
tion for launching his heir into that brilliant world of court? 
Poverty had kept him in the depths of his province; how 
should he have appeared at court? He sighed heavily as he 
raised his head. 

That sigh, in those days, came from the real aristocracy 
all over France; from the loyal provincial noblesse, consigned 
to neglect with most of those who had drawn sword and braved 
the storm for the cause. 

“What have the Princes done for the du Guénies, or the 
Fontaines, or the Bauvans, who never submitted?” he mut- 
tered to himself. “They fling miserable pensions to the men 
who fought most bravely, and give them a royal lieutenancy 
in a fortress somewhere on the outskirts of the kingdom.” 

Evidently the Marquis doubted the reigning dynasty. Mlle. 
d’Esgrignon was trying to reassure her brother as to the pros- 
pects of the journey, when a step outside on the dry narrow 
footway gave them notice of Chesnel’s coming. In another 
moment Chesnel appeared ; Joséphin, the Count’s gray-haired 
valet, admitted the notary without announcing him. 

“Chesnel, my boy ” (Chesnel was a white-haired man 
of sixty-nine, with a square-jawed, venerable countenance ; 
_ he wore knee-breeches, ample enough to fill several chapters 
of dissertation in the manner of Sterne, ribbed stockings, 
shoes with silver clasps, an ecclesiastical-looking coat and a 
high waistcoat of scholastic cut. 

“Chesnel, my boy, it was very presumptuous of you to 
lend money to the Comte d’Esgrignon! If I repaid you at 
once and we never saw each other again, it would be no more 
than you deserve for giving wings to his vices.” 





186 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


There was a pause, a silence such as there falls at court 
when the King publicly reprimands a courtier. The old 
notary looked humble and contrite. 

“T am anxious about that boy, Chesnel,” continued the 
Marquis in a kindly tone; “I should like to send him to Paris 
to serve His Majesty. Make arrangements with my sister for 
his suitable appearance at court—And we will settle ac- 
counts f 

The Marquis looked grave as he left the room with a 
friendly gesture of farewell to Chesnel. 

“T thank M. le Marquis for all his goodness,” returned the 
old man, who still remained standing. 

Mlle. Armande rose to go to the door with her brother; she 
had rung the bell, old Joséphin was in readiness to light his 
master to his room. 

“Take a seat, Chesnel,” said the lady, as she returned, and 
with womanly tact she explained away and softened the 
Marquis’ harshness. And yet beneath that harshness Chesnel 
saw a great affection. The Marquis’ attachment for his old 
servant was something of the same order as a man’s affection 
for his dog; he will fight any one who kicks the animal, the 
dog is like a part of his existence, a something which, if not 
exactly himself, represents him in that which is nearest and 
dearest—his sensibilities. 

“Tt is quite time that M. le Comte should be sent away from 
the town, mademoiselle,” he said sententiously. 

“Yes,” returned she. “Has he been indulging in some 
new escapade ?” 

“No, mademoiselle.” 

“Well, why do you blame him?” 

“T am not blaming him, mademoiselle. No, I am not 
blaming him. I am very far from blaming him. I will even 
say that I shall never blame him, whatever he may do.” 

There was a pause. The Chevalier, nothing if not quick 
to take in a situation, began to yawn like a sleep-ridden 
mortal. Gracefully he made his excuses and went, with as 
little mind to sleep as to go and drown himself. The imp 





THH JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 187 


Curiosity kept the Chevalier wide awake, and with airy 
fingers plucked away the cotton wool from his ears. 

“Well, Chesnel, is it something new?” Mlle. Armande be- 
gan anxiously. 

“Yes, things that cannot be told to M. le Marquis; he 
would drop down in an apoplectie fit.” 

“Speak out,” she said. With her beautiful head leant on 
the back of her low chair, and her arms extended listlessly by 
her side, she looked as if she were waiting passively for her 
deathblow. 

“Mademoiselle, M. le Comte, with all his cleverness, is a 
plaything in the hands of mean creatures, petty natures on 
the lookout for a crushing revenge. They want to ruin us 
and bring us low! There is the President of the Tribunal, 
M. du Ronceret; he has, as you know, a very great notion of 
his descent “1 

“His grandfather was an attorney,” interposed Mlle. Ar- 
mande. 

“T know he vas. And for that reason you have not received 
him; nor does he go to M. de Troisville’s, nor to M. le Duc de 
Verneuil’s, nor to the Marquis de Castéran’s; but he is one of 
the pillars of du Croisier’s salon. Your nephew may rub 
shoulders with young M. Fabien du Ronceret without conde- 
scending too far, for he must have companions of his own 
age. Well and good. That young fellow is at the bottom of 
all M. le Comte’s follies; he and two or three of the rest of 
them belong to the other side, the side of M. le Chevalier’s 
enemy, who does nothing but breathe threats of vengeance 
against you and all the nobles together. They all hope to 
ruin you through your nephew. The ringleader of the con- 
spiracy is this sycophant of a du Croisier, the pretended Roy- 
alist. Du Croisier’s wife, poor thing, knows nothing about 
it; you know her, I should have heard of it before this if she 
had ears to hear evil. For some time these wild young fellows 
were not in the secret, nor was anybody else; but the ring- 
leaders let something drop in jest, and then the fools got to 
know about it, and after the Count’s recent escapades they let 
fall some words while they were drunk. And those words were 





188 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


carried to me by others who are sorry to see such a fine, hand- 
some, noble, charming lad ruining himself with pleasure. So 
far people feel sorry for him; before many days are over they 
will—I am afraid to say what if 

“They will despise him; say it out, Chesnel!” Mlle. Ar- 
mande cried piteously. 

“Ah! How can you keep the best people in the town from 
finding out faults in their neighbors? They do not know what 
to do with themselves from morning to night. And so M. le 
Comte’s losses at play are all reckoned up. Thirty thousand 
francs have taken flight during these two months, and every- 
body wonders where he gets the money. If they mention it 
when I am present, I just call them to order. Ah! but— ‘Do 
you suppose’ (I told them this morning), ‘do you suppose that 
if the d’Esgrignon family have lost their manorial rights, that 
therefore they have been robbed of their hoard of treasure? 
The young Count has a right to do as he pleases; and so long 
as he does not owe you a half-penny, you have no right to say 
a word.’ ” 

Mlle. Armande held out her hand, and the notary kissed it 
respectfully. 

“Good Chesnel! . . . But, my friend, how shall we 
find the money for this journey? Victurnien must appear as 
befits his rank at court.” 

“Oh! I have borrowed money on Le Jard, mademoiselle.” 

“What? You had nothing left! Ah, heaven! what can we 
do to reward you?” 

“You can take the hundred thousand frances which I hold 
at your disposal. You can understand that the loan was ne- 
gotiated in confidence, so that it might not reflect on you; for 
it is known in the town that [ am closely connected with the 
d’Esgrignon family.” 

Tears came into Mlle. Armande’s eyes. Chesnel saw them, 
took a fold of the noble woman’s dress in his hands, and 
kissed it. 

“Never mind,” he said, “a lad must sow his wild oats. In 
great salons in Paris his boyish ideas will take a new turn. 





THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 189 


And, really, though our old friends here are the worthiest 
folk in the world, and no one could have nobler hearts than 
they, they are not amusing. If M. le Comte wants amuse- 
ment, he is obliged to look below his rank, and he will end by 
getting into low company.” 

Next day the old traveling coach saw the light, and was sent 
to be put in repair. In a solemn interview after breakfast, 
the hope of the house was duly informed of his father’s inten- 
tions regarding him—he was to go to court and ask to serve 
His Majesty. He would have time during the journey to 
make up his mind about his career. The navy or the army, 
the privy council, an embassy, or the Royal Household,—all 
were open to a d’Esgrignon, a d’Esgrignon had only to choose. 
The King would certainly look favorably upon the d’Es- 
grignons, because they had asked nothing of him, and had 
sent the youngest representative of their house to receive the 
recognition of Majesty. 

But young d’Hsgrignon, with all his wild pranks, had 
guessed instinctively what society in Paris meant, and formed 
his own opinions of life. So when they talked of his leaving 
the country and the paternal roof, he listened with a grave 
countenance to his revered parent’s lecture, and refrained 
from giving him a good deal of information in reply. As, 
for instance, that young men no longer went into the army 
or the navy as they used to do; that if a man had a mind to be 
a second lieutenant in a cavalry regiment without passing 
through a special training in the Hcoles, he must first serve 
in the Pages ; that sons of the greatest houses went exactly like 
commoners to Saint-Cyr and the Ecole polytechnique, and 
took their chances of being beaten by base blood. If he had 
enlightened his relatives on these points, funds might not 
have been forthcoming for a stay in Paris; so he allowed his 
father and Aunt Armande to believe that he would be per- 
mitted a seat in the King’s carriages, that he must support 
his dignity at court as the d’Esgrignon of the time, and rub 
shoulders with great lords of the realm. 

It grieved the Marquis that he could send but one servant 


190 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


with his son; but he gave him his own old valet Joséphin, a ~ 
man who can be trusted to take care of his young master, and 
to watch faithfully over his interests. The poor father must 
do without Joséphin, and hope to replace him with a young 
lad. 

“Remember that you are a Carol, my boy,” he said; “re- 
member that you come of an unalloyed descent, and that your 
scutcheon bears the motto Cul est nostre; with such arms you 
‘may hold your head high everywhere, and aspire to queens. 
Render grace to your father, as I to mine. We owe it to the 
honor of our ancestors, kept stainless until now, that we can 
look all men in the face, and need bend the knee to none save 
a mistress, the King, and God. This is the greatest of your 
privileges.” 

Chesnel, good man, was breakfasting with the family. He 
took no part in counsels based on heraldry, nor in the inditing 
of letters addressed to divers mighty personages of the day; 
but he had spent the night in writing to an old friend of his, 
one of the oldest established notaries of Paris. Without this 
letter it is not possible to understand Chesnel’s real and as- 
sumed fatherhood. It almost recalls Dedalus’ address to 
Icarus; for where, save in old mythology, can you look for 
comparisons worthy of this man of antique mould ? 


“My DEAR AND ESTIMABLE SORBIER,—I remember with no 
little pleasure that I made my first campaign in our honorable 
profession under your father, and that you had a liking for 
me, poor little clerk that I was. And now I appeal to old 
memories of the days when we worked in the same office, old 
pleasant memories for our hearts, to ask you to do me the one 
service that I have ever asked of you in the course of our long 
lives, crossed as they have been by political catastrophes, to 
which, perhaps, I owe it that I have the honor to be your col- 
league. And now I ask this service of you, my friend, and 
my white hairs will be brought with sorrow to the grave if 
you should refuse my entreaty. It is no question of myself or 
of mine, Sorbier, for I lost poor Mme. Chesnel, and T have no 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 191 


child of my own. Something more to me than my own family 
(if I had had one) is involved—it is the Marquis d’Es- 
grignon’s only son. I have had the honor to be the Marquis’ 
land steward ever since I left the office to which his father 
sent me at his own expense, with the idea of providing for me. 
The house which nurtured me has passed through all the 
troubles of the Revolution. I have managed to save some of 
their property ; but what is it, after all, in comparison with the 
wealth that they have lost? I cannot tell you, Sorbier, how 
deeply I am attached to the great house, which has been all 
but swallowed up under my eyes by the abyss of time. M. le 
Marquis was proscribed, and his lands confiscated, he was 
getting on in years, he had no child. Misfortunes upon mis- 
fortunes! Then M. le Marquis married, and his wife died 
when the young Count was born, and to-day this noble, dear, 
and precious child is all the life of the d’Esgrignon family ; 
the fate of the house hangs upon him. He has got into debt 
here with amusing himself. What else should he do in the 
provinces with an allowance of a miserable hundred louis? 
Yes, my friend, a hundred louis, the great house has come to 
this. 

“In this extremity his father thinks it necessary to send 
the Count to Paris to ask for the King’s favor at court. Paris 
is a very dangerous place for a lad; if he is to keep steady 
there, he must have the grain of sense which makes notaries of 
us. Besides, I should be heartbroken to think of the poor boy 
living amid such hardships as we have known.—Do you re- 
member the pleasure with which you shared my roll in the 
pit of the Théatre-Francais when we spent a day and a night 
there waiting to see The Marriage of Figaro? Oh, blind that 
we were!—We were happy and poor, but a noble cannot be 
happy in poverty. A noble in want—it is a thing against 
nature! Ah! Sorbier, when one has known the satisfaction 
of propping one of the grandest genealogical trees in the king- 
dom in its fall, it is so natural to interest oneself in it and to 

» grow fond of it, and love it and water it and look to see it 
blossom. So you will not be surprised at so many precautions 


192 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


on my part; you will not wonder when I beg the help of your 
lights, so that all may go well with our young man. 

“The family has allowed a hundred thousand franes for the 
expenses of M. le Comte’s journey. There is not a young 
man in Paris fit to compare with him, as you will see! You 
will take an interest in him as if he were your only son; and 
lastly, I am quite sure that Madame Sorbier will not hesitate 
to second you in the office of guardian. M. le Comte Vic- 
turnien’s monthly allowance is fixed at two thousand francs, 
but give him ten thousand for his preliminary expenses. The 
family have provided in this way for a stay of two years, un- 
less he takes a journey abroad, in which case we will see 
about making other arrangements. Join me in this work, 
my old friend, and keep the purse-strings fairly tight. Repre- 
sent things to M. le Comte without reproving him; hold him 
in as far as you can, and do not let him anticipate his monthly 
allowance without sufficient reason, for he must not be driven 
to desperation if honor is involved. 

“Keep yourself informed of his movements and doings, of 
the company which he keeps, and watch over his connections 
with women. M. le Chevalier says that an opera dancer often 
costs less than a court lady. Obtain information on that point 
and let me know. If you are too busy, perhaps Mme. Sorbier 
might know what becomes of the young man, and where he 
goes. The idea of playing the part of guardian angel to such 
a noble and charming boy might have attractions for her. 
God will remember her for accepting the sacred trust. Per- 
haps when you see M. le Comte Victurnien, her heart may 
tremble at the thought of all the dangers awaiting him in 
Paris; he is very young, and very handsome; clever, and at 
the same time disposed to trust others. If he forms a connec- 
tion with some designing woman, Mme. Sorbier could counsel 
him better than you yourself could do. The old man-servant 
who is with him can tell you many things; sound Joséphin, 
I have told him to go to you in delicate matters. 

“But why should I say more? We once were clerks to- 
gether, and a pair of scamps; remember our escapades, and be 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 193 


a little bit young again, my old friend, in your dealings with 
him. The sixty thousand francs will be remitted to you in 
the shape of a bill on the Treasury by a gentleman who is 
going to Paris,” and so forth. 


If the old couple to whom this epistle was addressed had 
followed out Chesnel’s «instructions, they would have been 
compelled to take three private detectives into their pay. And 
yet there was ample wisdom shown in Chesnel’s choice of a 
depositary. A banker pays money to any one accredited to 
him so long as the money lasts; whereas, Victurnien was 
obliged, every time that he was in want of money, to make a 
personal visit to the notary, who was quite sure to use the right 
of remonstrance. 

Victurnien heard that he was to be allowed two thousand 
francs every month, and thought that he betrayed his joy. 
He knew nothing of Paris. He fancied that he could keep 
up princely state on such a sum. | 

Next day he started on his journey. All the benedictions 
of the Collection of Antiquities went with him; he was kissed 
by the dowagers; good wishes were heaped on his head; his 
old father, his aunt, and Chesnel went with him out of the 
town, tears filling the eyes of all the three. The sudden de- 
parture supplied material for conversation for several even- 
ings ; and what was more, it stirred the rancorous minds of the 
salon du Croisier to the depths. The forage-contractor, the 
president, and others who had vowed to ruin the d’Hsgrignons, 
saw their prey escaping out of their hands. They had based 
their schemes of revenge on a young man’s follies, and now 
he was beyond their reach. 

The tendency in human nature, which often gives a bigot 
a rake for a daughter, and makes a frivolous woman the 
mother of a narrow pietist; that rule of contraries, which, in 
all probability, is the “resultant” of the law of similarities, 
drew Victurnien to Paris by a desire to which he must sooner 
or later have yielded. Brought up as he had been in the old- 
fashioned provincial house, among the quiet, gentle faces that 


194 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


smiled upon him, among sober servants attached to the family, 
and surroundings tinged with a general color of age, the boy 
had only seen friends worthy of respect. All of those about 
him, with the exception of the Chevalier, had example of 
venerable age, were elderly men and women, sedate of man- 
ner, decorous and sententious of speech. He had been petted 
by those women in the gray gowns and embroidered mittens 
described by Blondet. The antiquated splendors of his father’s 
house were as little calculated as possible to suggest frivolous 
thoughts; and lastly, he had been educated by a sincerely re- 
ligious abbé, possessed of all the charm of an old age, which 
has dwelt in two centuries, and brings to the Present its gifts 
of the dried roses of experience, the faded flowers of the old 
customs of its youth. LHverything should have combined to 
fashion Victurnien to serious habits; his whole surroundings 
from childhood bade him continue the glory of a historic 
name, by taking his life as something noble and great; and yet 
Victurnien listened to dangerous promptings. 

For him, his noble birth was a stepping-stone which raised 
him above other men. He felt that the idol of Noblesse, be- 
fore which they burned incense at home, was hollow; he had 
come to be one of the commonest as well as one of the worst 
types from a social point of view—a consistent egoist. The 
aristocratic cult of the Hgo simply taught him to follow his 
own fancies; he had been idolized by those who had the care 
of him in childhood, and adored by the companions who 
shared in his boyish escapades, and so he had formed a habit 
of looking and judging everything as it affected his own 
pleasure; he took it as a matter of course when good souls 
saved him from the consequences of his follies, a piece of mis- 
taken kindness which could only lead to his ruin. Victurnien’s 
early training, noble and pious though it was, had isolated 
him too much. He was out of the current of the life of his 
time, for the life of a provincial town is certainly not in the 
main current of the age; Victurnien’s true destiny lifted him 
above it. He had learned to think of an action, not as 
it affected others, nor relatively, but absolutely from his own 


THH JHALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 195 


point of view. Like despots, he made the law to suit the cir- 
cumstance, a system which works in the lives of prodigal sons 
the same confusion which fancy brings into art. 

Victurnien was quick-sighted, he saw clearly and without 
illusion, but he acted on impulse, and unwisely. An inde- 
finable flaw of character, often seen in young men, but im- 
possible to explain, led him to will one thing and do another. 
In spite of an active mind, which showed itself in unexpected 
ways, the senses had but to assert themselves, and the dark- 
ened brain seemed to exist no longer. He might have aston- 
ished wise men; he was capable of setting fools agape. His 
desires, like a sudden squall of bad weather, overclouded all 
the clear and lucid spaces of his brain in a moment; and then, 
after the dissipations which he could not resist, he sank, ut- 
terly exhausted in body, heart, and mind, into a collapsed 
condition bordering upon imbecility. Such a character will 
drag a man down into the mire if he is left to himself, or 
bring him to the highest heights of political power if he has 
some stern friend to keep him in hand. Neither Chesnel, nor 
the lad’s father, nor Aunt Armande had fathomed the depths 
of a nature so nearly akin on many sides to the poetic tem- 
perament, yet smitten with a terrible weakness at its core. 


By the time the old town lay several miles away, Vic- 
turnien felt not the slightest regret ; he thought no more about 
the father, who had loved ten generations in his son, nor of 
the aunt, and her almost insane devotion. He was looking 
forward to Paris with vehement ill-starred longings, in 
thought he had lived in that fairyland, it had been the back- 
ground of his brightest dreams. He imagined that he would 
be first in Paris, as he had been in the town and the depart- 
ment where his father’s name was potent; but it was vanity, 
not pride, that filled his soul, and in his dreams his pleasures 
were to be magnified by all the greatness of Paris. The dis- 
tance was soon crossed. The traveling coach, like his own 
thoughts, left the narrow horizon of the province for the vast 
world of the great city, without a break in the journey. He 


196 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


stayed in the Rue de Richelieu, in a handsome hotel close to. 
the boulevard, and hastened to take possession of Paris as a 
famished horse rushes into a meadow. 

He was not long in finding out the difference between 
country and town, and was rather surprised than abashed by 
the change. His mental quickness soon discovered how small 
an entity he was in the midst of this all-comprehending 
Babylon; how insane it would be to attempt to stem the tor- 
rent of new ideas and new ways. A single incident was 
enough. He delivered his father’s letter of introduction to 
the Duc de Lenoncourt, a noble who stood high in favor with 
the King. He saw the duke in his splendid mansion, among 
surroundings befitting his rank. Next day he met him again. 
This time the Peer of France was lounging on foot along the 
boulevard, just like any ordinary mortal, with an umbrella in 
his hand; he did not even wear the Blue Ribbon, without 
which no knight of the order could have appeared in public 
in other times. And, duke and peer and first gentleman of 
the bedchamber though he was, M. de Lenoncourt, spite of his 
high courtesy, could not repress a smile as he read his rela- 
_tive’s letter ; and that smile told Victurnien that the Collection 
of Antiquities and the Tuileries were separated by more than 
sixty leagues of road; the distance of several centuries lay 
between them. 

The names of the families grouped about the throne are 
quite different in each successive reign, and the characters 
change with the names. It would seem that, in the sphere 
of court, the same thing happens over and over again in each 
generation ; but each time there is a quite different set of per- 
sonages. If history did not prove that this is so, it would seem 
incredible. The prominent men at the court of Louis X VIII., 
for instance, had scarcely any connection with the Riviéres, 
Blacas, d’Avarays, Vitrolles, d’Autichamps, Pasquiers, La- 
rochejaqueleins, Decazes, Dambrays, Lainés, de Villéles, La 
Bourdonnayes, and others who shone at the court of Louis 
XV. Compare the courtiers of Henri IV. with those of Louis 
XIV.; you will hardly find five great families of the former 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 197 


time still in existence. The nephew of the great Richelieu 
was a very insignificant person at the court of Louis XIV.; 
while His Majesty’s favorite, Villeroi, was the grandson of a 
secretary ennobled by Charles IX. And so it befell that the 
d’Esgrignons, all but princes under the Valois, and all-power- 
ful in the time of Henri IV., had no fortune whatever at the 
court of Louis X VIII., which gave them not so much as a 
thought. At this day there are names as famous as those of 
royal houses—the Foix-Graillys, for instance, or the d’Hérou- 
villes—left to obscurity tantamount to extinction for want of 
money, the one power of the time. 

All which things Victurnien beheld entirely from his own 
point of view; he felt the equality that he saw in Paris as a 
personal wrong. The monster Equality was swallowing down 
the last fragments of social distinction in the Restoration. 
Having made up his mind on this head, he immediately pro- 
ceeded to try to win back his place with such dangerous, if 
blunted weapons, as the age left to the noblesse. It is an ex- 
pensive matter to gain the attention of Paris. To this end, 
Victurnien adopted some of the ways then in vogue. He felt 
that it was a necessity to have horses and fine carriages, and 
all the accessories of modern luxury; he felt, in short, “that a 
man must keep abreast of the times,” as de Marsay said—de 
Marsay, the first dandy that he came across in the first draw- 
ing-room to which he was introduced. For his misfortune, 
he fell in with a set of roués, with de Marsay, de Ronquerolles, 
Maxime de Trailles, des Lupeaulx, Rastignac, Ajuda-Pinto, 
Beaudenord, de la Roche-Hugon, de Manerville, and the Van- 
denesses, whom he met wherever he went, and a great many 
houses were open to a young man with his ancient name and 
reputation for wealth. He went to the Marquise d’Espard’s, 
to the Duchesses de Grandlieu, de Carigliano, and de Chaulieu, 
to the Marquises d’Aiglemont and de Listomére, to Mme. de 
Sérizy’s, to the Opéra, to the embassies and elsewhere. The 
Faubourg Saint-Germain has its provincial genealogies at its 
fingers’ ends; a great name once recognized and adopted 
therein is a passport which opens many a door that will 


198 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


scarcely turn on its hinges for unknown names or the lions of 
a lower rank. 

Victurnien found his relatives both amiable and ready to 
welcome him so long as he did not appear as a suppliant; he 
saw at once that the surest way of obtaining nothing was to 
ask for something. At Paris, if the first impulse moves people 
to protect, second thoughts (which last a good deal longer) 
impel them to despise the protégé. Independence, vanity, and 
pride, all the young Count’s better and worse feelings com- 
bined, led him, on the contrary, to assume an aggressive atti- 
tude. And therefore the Ducs de Verneuil, de Lenoncourt, 
de Chaulieu, de Navarreins, d’Hérouville, de Grandlieu, and 
de Maufrigneuse, the Princes de Cadignan and de Blamont- 
Chauvry, were delighted to present the charming survivor of 
the wreck of an ancient family at court. 

Victurnien went to the Tuileries in a splendid carriage 
with his armorial bearings on the panels; but his presentation 
to His Majesty made it abundantly clear to him that the 
people occupied the royal mind so much that his nobility was 
like to be forgotten. The restored dynasty, moreover, was 
surrounded by triple ranks of eligible old men and gray- 
headed courtiers ; the young noblesse was reduced to a cipher, 
and this Victurnien guessed at once. He saw that there was 
no suitable place for him at court, nor in the government, nor 
the army, nor, indeed, anywhere else. So he launched out 
into the world of pleasure. Introduced at the Elysée-Bourbon, 
at the Duchesse d’Angouléme’s, at the Pavillon Marsan, he 
met on all sides with the surface civilities due to the heir of 
an old family, not so old but it could be called to mind by the 
sight of a living member. And, after all, it was not a small 
thing to be remembered. In the distinction with which Vic- 
turnien was honored lay the way to the peerage and a splendid 
marriage; he had taken the field with a false appearance of 
wealth, and his vanity would not allow him to declare his real 
position. Besides, he had been so much complimented on the 
figure that he made, he was so pleased with his first success, 
that, like many other young men, he felt ashamed to draw 





THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 199 


back. He took a suite of rooms in the Rue du Bac, with 
stables and a complete equipment for the fashionable life 
to which he had committed himself. These preliminaries cost 
him fifty thousand francs, which money, moreover, the young 
gentleman managed to draw in spite of all Chesnel’s wise pre- 
cautions, thanks to a series of unforeseen events. 

Chesnel’s letter certainly reached his friend’s office, but 
Maitre Sorbier was dead ; and Mme. Sorbier, a matter-of-fact 
person, seeing that it was a business letter, handed it on to 
her husband’s successor. Maitre Cardot, the new notary, in- 
formed the young Count that a draft on the Treasury made 
payable to the deceased would be useless ; and by way of reply 
to the letter, which had cost the old provincial notary so much 
thought, Cardot despatched four lines intended not to reach 
Chesnel’s heart, but to produce the money. Chesnel made the 
draft payable to Sorbier’s young successor; and the latter, 
feeling but little inclination to adopt his correspondent’s senti- 
mentality, was delighted to put himself at the Count’s orders, 
and gave Victurnien as much money as he wanted. 

Now those who know what life in Paris means, know that 
fifty thousand francs will not go very far in furniture, horses, 
carriages,and elegance generally ; but it must be borne in mind 
that Victurnien immediately contracted some twenty thou- 
sand frances’ worth of debts besides, and his tradespeople at 
first were not at all anxious to be paid, for our young gen- 
tleman’s fortune had been prodigiously increased, partly by 
rumor, partly by Joséphin, that Chesnel in livery. 

Victurnien had not been in town a month before he was 
obliged to repair to his man of business for ten thousand 
frances; he had only been playing whist with the Ducs de 
Navarreins, de Chaulieu, and de Lenoncourt, and now and 
again at his club. He had begun by winning some thousands 
of francs, but pretty soon lost five or six thousand, which 
brought home to him the necessity of a purse for play. Vic- 
turnien had the spirit that gains goodwill everywhere, and 
puts a young man of a great family on a level with the 
very highest. He was not merely admitted at once into the 


200 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


band of patrician youth, but was even envied by the rest. It 
was intoxicating to him to feel that he was envied, nor was 
he in this mood very likely to think of reform. Indeed, he 
had completely lost his head. He would not think of the 
means; he dipped into his money-bags as if they could be 
refilled indefinitely; he deliberately shut his eyes to the in- 
evitable results of the system. In that dissipated set, in the 
continual whirl of gaiety, people take the actors in their 
brilliant costumes as they find them; no one inquires whether 
a man can afford to make the figure he does, there is nothing 
in worse taste than inquiries as to ways and means. A man 
ought to renew his wealth perpetually, and as Nature does— 
below the surface and out of sight. People talk if somebody 
comes to grief; they joke about a newcomer’s fortune till 
their minds are set at rest, and at this they draw the line. 
Victurnien d’Esgrignon, with all the Faubourg Saint-Ger- 
main to back him, with all his protectors exaggerating the 
amount of his fortune (were it only to rid themselves of re- 
sponsibility), and magnifying his possessions in the most re- 
fined and well-bred way, with a hint or a word; with all 
these advantages—to repeat—Victurnien was, in fact, an 
eligible Count. He was handsome, witty, sound in politics ; 
his father still possessed the ancestral castle and the lands of 
the marquisate. Such a young fellow is sure of an admi- 
rable reception in houses where there are marriageable 
daughters, fair but portionless partners at dances, and young 
married women who find that time hangs heavy on their 
hands. So the world, smiling, beckoned him to the fore- 
most benches in its booth; the seats reserved for marquises are 
still in the same place in Paris; and 1f the names are changed, 
the things are the same as ever. 

In the most exclusive circle of society in the Faubourg 
Saint-Germain, Victurnien found the Chevalier’s double in 
the person of the Vidame de Pamiers. The Vidame was a 
Chevalier de Valois raised to the tenth power, invested with 
all the prestige of wealth, enjoying all the advantages of high 
position. The dear Vidame was a repositary for everybody’s 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 201 


secrets, and the gazette of the Faubourg besides ; nevertheless, 
he was discreet, and, like other gazettes, only said things that 
might safely be published. Again Victurnien listened to 
the Chevalier’s esoteric doctrines. The Vidame told young 
d’Esgrignon, without mincing matters, to make conquests 
among women of quality, supplementing the advice with anec- 
dotes from his own experience. The Vicomte de Pamiers, 
it seemed, had permitted himself much that it would serve 
no purpose to relate here; so remote was it all from our 
modern manners, in which soul and passion play so large a 
part, that nobody would believe it. But the excellent Vidame 
aid more than this. 

“Dine with me at a tavern to-morrow,” said he, by way 
of conclusion. “We will digest our dinner at the Opéra, and 
afterwards I will take you to a house where several people 
have the greatest wish to meet you.” 

The Vidame gave a delightful little dinner at the Rocher 
de Cancale ; three guests only were asked to meet Victurnien 
—de Marsay, Rastignac, and Blondet. Emile Blondet, the 
young Count’s fellow-townsman, was a man of letters on 
the outskirts of society to which he had been introduced by 
a charming woman from the same province. ‘This was one 
of the Vicomte de T'roisville’s daughters, now married to the 
Comte de Montcornet, one of those of Napoleon’s generals 
who went over to the Bourbons. The Vidame held that a 
dinner-party of more than six persons was beneath contempt. 
In that case, according to him, there was an end alike of 
cookery and conversation, and a man could not sip his wine in 
a proper frame of mind. 

“T have not yet told you, my dear boy, where I mean to 
take you to-night,” he said, taking Victurnien’s hands and 
tapping on them. “You are going to see Mlle. des Touches ; 
all the pretty women with any pretensions to wit will be at 
her house en petit comité. Literature, art, poetry, any sort 
of genius, in short, is held in great esteem there. It is one 
of our old-world bureaua desprit, with a veneer of mon- 
archical doctrine, the livery of this present age.” 


202 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


“Tt is sometimes as tiresome and tedious there as a pair ~ 
of new boots, but there are women with whom you cannot meet 
anywhere else,” said de Marsay. 

“Tf all the poets who went there to rub up their muse were 
like our friend here,” said Rastignac, tapping Blondet 
familiarly on the shoulder, “we should have some fun. But 
a plague of odes, and ballads, and driveling meditations, and 
novels with wide margins, pervades the sofas and the 
atmosphere.” 

“T don’t dislike them,” said de Marsay, “so long as they 
corrupt girls’ minds, and don’t spoil women.” 

“Gentlemen,” smiled Blondet, “you are encroaching on my 
field of literature.” 

“You need not talk. You have robbed us of the most 
charming woman in the world, you lucky rogue; we may be 
allowed to steal your less brilliant ideas,” cried Rastignac. 

“Yes, he is a lucky rascal,” said the Vidame, and he 
twitched Blondet’s ear. “But perhaps Victurnien here will 
be luckier still this evening——” 

“Already!” exclaimed de Marsay. ‘Why, he only came 
here a month ago; he has scarcely had time to shake the dust 
of his old manor house off his feet, to wipe off the brine 
in which his aunt kept him preserved; he has only just 
set up a decent horse, a tilbury in the latest style, a 
groom i 

“No, no, not a groom,” interrupted Rastignac; “he has 
some sort of an agricultural laborer that he brought with him 
‘from his place.’ Buisson, who understands a livery as well 
as most, declared that the man was physically incapable of 
wearing a jacket.” 

“J will tell you what, you ought to have modeled your- 
self on Beaudenord,” the Vidame said seriously. “He has 
this advantage over all of you, my young friends, he has a 
genuine specimen of the English tiger-——” 

“Just see, gentlemen, what the noblesse have come to in 
France!” cried Victurnien. “For them the one important 
thing is to have a tiger, a thoroughbred, and baubles———” 





THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 203 


“Bless me!” said Blondet. “ ‘This gentleman’s good sense 
at times appalls me.’-—Well, yes, young moralist, you nobles 
have come to that. You have not even left to you that 
lustre of lavish expenditure for which the dear Vidame was 
famous fifty years ago. We revel on a second floor in the 
Rue Montorgueil. There are no more wars with the Cardinal, 
no Field of the Cloth of Gold. You, Comte d’Esgrignon, in 
short, are supping in the company of one Blondet, younger 
son of a miserable provincial magistrate, with whom you 
would not shake hands down yonder; and in ten years’ time 
you may sit beside him among peers of the realm. Believe 
in yourself after that, if you can.” 

“Ah, well,” said Rastignac, “we have passed from action to 
thought, from brute force to force of intellect, we are talk- 
ing 3) 

“Let us not talk of our reverses,” protested the Vidame; 
“T have made up my mind to die merrily. If our friend here 
has not a tiger as yet, he comes of a race of lions, and can dis- 
pense with one.” 

“He cannot do without a tiger,” said Blondet; “he is too 
newly come to town.” 

“His elegance may be new as yet,” returned de Marsay, 
“but we are adopting it. He is worthy of us, he understands 
his age, he has brains, he is nobly born and gently bred; 
we are going to like him, and serve him, and push him ii 

“Whither?” inquired Blondet. 

“Inquisitive soul!” said Rastignac. 

“With whom will he take up to-night ?” de Marsay asked. 

‘With a whole seraglio,” said the Vidame. 

“Plague take it! What can we have done that the dear 
Vidame is punishing us by keeping his word to the infanta ? 
I should be pitiable indeed if I did not know her A 

“And I was once a coxcomb even as he,” said the Vidame, 
indicating de Marsay. 

The conversation continued pitched in the same key, charm- 
ingly scandalous, and agreeably corrupt. The dinner went 
off very pleasantly. Rastignac and de Marsay went to the 











204 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


Opéra with the Vidame and Victurnien, with a view to fol- 
lowing them afterwards to Mlle. des Touches’ salon. And 
thither, accordingly, this pair of rakes betook themselves, cal- 
culating that by that time the tragedy would have been read ; 
for of all things to be taken between eleven and twelve o’clock 
at night, a tragedy in their opinion was the most unwhole- 
some. They went to keep a watch on Victurnien and to em- 
barrass him, a piece of schoolboy’s mischief embittered by a 
jealous dandy’s spite. But Victurnien was gifted with that 
page’s effrontery which is a great help to ease of manner; and 
Rastignac, watching him as he made his entrance, was sur- 
prised to see how quickly he caught the tone of the 
moment. 

“That young d’Esgrignon will go far, will he not?” he 
said, addressing his companion. | 

“That is as may be,’ returned de Marsay, “but he is in a 
fair way.” 


The Vidame introduced his young friend to one of the 
most amiable and frivolous duchesses of the day, a lady whose 
adventures caused an explosion five years later. Just then, 
however, she was in the full blaze of her glory; she had been 
suspected, it is true, of equivocal conduct; but suspicion, 
while it is stilt suspicion and not proof, marks a woman out 
with the kind of distinction which slander gives to a man. 
Nonentities are never slandered; they chafe because they are 
left in peace. This woman was, in fact, the Duchesse de 
Maufrigneuse, a daughter of the d’Uxelles; her father-in-law 
was still alive; she was not to be the Princesse de Cadignan 
for some years to come. A friend of the Duchesse de 
Langeais and the Vicomtesse de Beauséant, two glories de- 
parted, she was likewise intimate with the Marquise d’Espard, 
with whom she disputed her fragile sovereignty as queen of 
fashion. Great relations lent her countenance for a long 
while, but the Duchesse de Maufrigneuse was one of those 
women who, in some way, nobody knows how, or why, or 
where, will spend the rents of all the lands of earth, and of 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 205 


the moon likewise, if they were not out of reach. The 
general outline of her character was scarcely known as yet; 
de Marsay, and de Marsay only, really had read her. That 
redoubtable dandy now watched the Vidame de Pamiers’ in- 
troduction of his young friend to that lovely woman, and 
bent over to say in Rastignac’s ear: 

“My dear fellow, he will go up whizz! like a rocket, and 
come down like a stick,” an atrociously vulgar saying which 
was remarkably fulfilled. 

The Duchesse de Maufrigneuse had lost her heart to Vic- 
turnien after first giving her mind to a serious study of 
him. Any lover who should have caught the glance by which 
she expressed her gratitude to the Vidame might well have 
been jealous. of such friendship. Women are like horses let 
loose on a steppe when they feel, as the Duchess felt with the 
Vidame de Pamiers, that the ground is safe; at such moments 
they are themselves; perhaps it pleases them to give, as it 
were, samples of their tenderness in intimacy in this way. 
It was a guarded glance, nothing was lost between eye and 
eye; there was no possibility of reflection in any mirror. 
Nobody intercepted it. 

“See how she has prepared herself,” Rastignac said, turn- 
ing to de Marsay. “What a virginal toilette; what swan’s 
grace in that snow-white throat of hers! How white her 
gown is, and she is wearing a sash like a little girl; she looks 
round like a madonna inviolate. Who would think that you 
had passed that way?” 

“The very reason why she looks as she does,” returned de 
Marsay, with a triumphant air. 

The two young men exchanged a smile. Mme. de Maufri- 
gneuse saw the smile and guessed at their conversation, and 
gave the pair a broadside of her eyes, an art acquired by 
Frenchwomen since the Peace, when Englishwomen imported 
it into this country, together with the shape of their silver 
plate, their horses and harness, and the piles of insular ice 
which impart a refreshing coolness to the atmosphere of any 
room in which a certain number of British females are 


< 206 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


gathered together. The young men grew serious as a couple 
of clerks at the end of a homily from headquarters before 
the receipt of an expected bonus. 

The Duchess when she lost her heart to Victurnien had 
made up her mind to play the part of romantic Innocence, 
a role much understudied subsequently by other women, for 
the misfortune of modern youth. Her Grace of Maufri- 
gneuse had just come out as an angel at a moment’s notice, 
precisely as she meant to turn to literature and science some- 
where about her fortieth year instead of taking to devotion. 
She made a point of being like nobody else. Her 
parts, her dresses, her caps, opinions, toilettes, and man- 
ner of acting were all entirely new and original. Soon after 
her marriage, when she was scarcely more than a girl, she 
had played the part of a knowing and almost depraved wo- 
man; she ventured on risky repartees with shallow people, 
and betrayed her ignorance to those who knew better. As 
the date of that marriage made it impossible to abstract one 
little year from her age without the knowledge of Time, and 
as Her Grace had reached her twenty-sixth year, she had 
taken it into her head to be immaculate. She scarcely 
seemed to belong to earth; she shook out her wide sleeves 
as if they had been wings. Her eyes fled to heaven at too 
warm a glance, or word, or thought. 

There is a madonna painted by Piola, the great Genoese 
painter, who bade fair to bring out a second edition of 
Raphael till his career was cut short by jealousy and murder ; 
his madonna, however, you may dimly discern through a 
pane of glass in a little street in Genoa. 

A more chaste-eyed madonna than Piola’s does not exist; 
but compared with Mme. de Maufrigneuse, that heavenly 
creature was a Messalina. Women wondered among them- 
selves how such a giddy young thing had been transformed 
by a change of dress into the fair veiled seraph who seemed 
(to use an expression now in vogue) to have a soul as white 
as new fallen snow on the highest Alpine crests. How had 
she solved in such short space the Jesuitical problem how to 


THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 207 


display a bosom whiter than her soul by hiding it in ganze? 
How could she look so ethereal while her eyes drooped so 
murderously? Those almost wanton glances seemed to give 
promise of untold languorous delight, while by an ascetic’s 
sigh of aspiration after a better life the mouth appeared to 
add that none of those promises would be fulfilled. In- 
genuous youths (for there were a few to be found in the 
Guards of that day) privately wondered whether, in the most 
intimate moments, it were possible to speak familiarly to this 
White Lady, this starry vapor slidden down from the Milky 
Way. ‘This system, which answered completely for some 
years at a stretch, was turned to good account by women 
of fashion, whose breasts were lined with a stout philosophy, 
for they could cloak no inconsiderable exactions with these 
little airs from the sacristy. Not one of the celestial creatures 
but was quite well aware of the possibilities of less ethereal 
love which lay in the longing of every well-conditioned male 
to recall such beings to earth. It was a fashion which per- 
mitted them to abide in a semi-religious, semi-Ossianic 
empyrean ; they could, and did, ignore all the practical details 
of daily hfe, a short and easy method of disposing of many 
questions. De Marsay, foreseeing the future developments 
of the system, added a last word, for he saw that Rastignac 
was jealous of Victurnien. 

“My boy,” said he, “stay as you are. Our Nucingen will 
make your fortune, whereas the Duchess would ruin you. 
She is too expensive.” 

Rastignac allowed de Marsay to go without asking further 
questions. He knew Paris. He knew that the most refined and 
noble and disinterested of women—a woman who cannot be 
induced to accept anything but a bouquet—can be as danger- 
ous an acquaintance for a young man as any opera girl of 
former days. As a matter of fact, the opera girl is an al- 
most mythical being. As things are now at the theatres, 
dancers and actresses are about as amusing as a declaration of 
the rights of woman, they are puppets that go abroad in the 
morning in the character of respected and respectable mothers 


208 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


of families, and act men’s parts in tight-fitting garments at 
night. 

Worthy M. Chesnel, in his country notary’s office, was 
right; he had foreseen one of the reefs on which the Count 
might make shipwreck. Victurnien was dazzled by the 
poetic aureole which Mme. de Maufrigneuse chose to assume; 
he was chained and padlocked from the first hour in her 
company, bound captive by that girlish sash, and caught by 
the curls twined round fairy fingers. Far corrupted the boy 
was already, but he really believed in that farrago of maiden- 
liness and muslin, in sweet looks as much studied as an Act 
of Parliament. And if the one man, who is in duty bound to 
believe in feminine fibs, is deceived by them, is not that 
enough ? 

For a pair of lovers, the rest of their species are about as 
much alive as figures on the tapestry. The Duchess, flattery 
apart, was avowedly and admittedly one of the ten hand- 
somest women in society. “The loveliest woman in Paris” is, 
as you know, as often met with in the world of love-making 
as “the finest book that has appeared in this generation,” in 
the world of letters. 

The converse which Victurnien held with the Duchess can 
be kept up at his age without too great a strain. He was 
young enough and ignorant enough of life in Paris to feel 
no necessity to be upon his guard, no need to keep a watch 
over his lightest words and glances. The religious senti- 
mentalism, which finds a broadly humorous commentary in 
the after-thoughts of either speaker, puts the old-world 
French chat of men and women, with its pleasant familiarity, 
its lively ease, quite out of the question; they make love in a 
mist nowadays. 

Victurnien was just sufficient of an unsophisticated pro- 
vincial to remain suspended in a highly appropriate and un- 
feigned rapture which pleased the Duchess; for women are 
no more to be deceived by the comedies which men play than 
by their own. Mme. de Maufrigneuse calculated, not without 
dismay, that the young Count’s infatuation was likely to hold 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 209 


good for six whole months of disinterested love. She looked 
so lovely in this dove’s mood, quenching the light in her eyes 
by the golden fringe of their lashes, that when the Marquise 
d’Espard bade her friend good-night, she whispered, “Good! 
very good, dear!” And with those farewell words, the fair 
Marquise left her rival to make the tour of the modern Pays 
du Tendre ; which, by the way, is not so absurd a conception 
as some appear to think. New maps of the country are en- 
graved for each generation; and if the names of the routes 
are different, they still lead to the same capital city. 

In the course of an hour’s téte-d-téte, on a corner sofa, 
under the eyes of the world, the Duchess brought young 
d’Esgrignon as far as Scipio’s Generosity, the Devotion of 
Amadis, and Chivalrous Self-abnegation (for the Middle 
Ages were just coming into fashion, with their daggers, 
machicolations, hauberks, chain-mail, peaked shoes, and 
romantic painted card-board properties). She had an ad- 
mirable turn, moreover, for leaving things unsaid, for leaving 
ideas in a discreet, seeming careless way, to work their way 
down, one by one, into Victurnien’s heart, like needles into a 
cushion. She possessed a marvelous skill in reticence; she 
was charming in hypocrisy, lavish of subtle promises, which 
revived hope and then melted away like ice in the sun if you 
looked at them closely, and most treacherous in the desire 
which she felt and inspired. At the close of this charming 
encounter she produced the running noose of an invitation 
to call, and flung it over him with a dainty demureness which 
the printed page can never set forth. 

“You will forget me,” she said. “You will find so many 
women eager to pay court to you instead of enlightening 
you. . . . But you will come back to me undeceived. 
Are you coming to me first? . . . No. As you will.— 
For my own part, I tell you frankly that your visits will be 
a great pleasure to me. People of soul are so rare, and I 
think that you are one of them.—Come, good-bye; people will 
begin to talk about us if we talk together any longer.” 

She made good her words and took flight. Victurnien 


210 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


went soon afterwards, but not before others had guessed his 
ecstatic condition; his face wore the expression peculiar to 
happy men, something between an Inquisitor’s calm discre- 
tion and the self-contained beatitude of a devotee, fresh from 
the confessional and absolution. 

“Mme. de Maufrigneuse went pretty briskly to the point 
this evening,” said the Duchesse de Grandlieu, when only 
half-a-dozen persons were left in Mlle. des Touches’ little 
drawing-room—to wit, des Lupeaulx, a Master of Requests, 
who at that time stood very well at court, Vandenesse, the 
Vicomtesse de Grandlieu, Canalis, and Mme. de Sérizy. 

“D’Esgrignon and Maufrigneuse are two names that are 


sure to cling together,” said Mme. de Sérizy, who aspired to | 


epigram. 

“For some days past she has been out at grass on 
Platonism,” said des Lupeaulx. 

“She will ruin that poor innocent,’ added Charles de 
Vandenesse. 

“What do you mean?” asked Mlle. des Touches. 

“Oh, morally and financially, beyond all doubt,” said the 
Vicomtesse, rising. 

The cruel words were cruelly true for young d’Esgrignon. 

Next morning he wrote to his aunt describing his intro- 
duction into the high world of the Faubourg Saint-Germain 
in bright colors flung by the prism of love, explaining the 
reception which met him everywhere in a way which gratified 
his father’s family pride. The Marquis would have the whole 
long letter read to him twice; he rubbed his hands when he 
heard of the Vidame de Pamiers’ dinner—the Vidame was 
an old acquaintance—and of the subsequent introduction to 
the Duchess; but at Blondet’s name he lost himself in con- 
jectures. What could the younger son of a judge, a public 
prosecutor during the Revolution, have been doing there? 

There was joy that evening among the Collection of Antigq- 
uities. They talked over the young Count’s success. So dis- 
ereet were they with regard to Mme. de Maufrigneuse, that 
the one man who heard the secret was the Chevalier. There 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 211 


was no financial postscript at the end of the letter, no un- 
pleasant concluding reference to the sinews of war, which 
every young man makes in such a case. Mlle. Armande 
showed it to Chesnel. Chesnel was pleased and raised not a 
single objection. It was clear, as the Marquis and the Cheva- 
ler agreed, that a young man in favor with the Duchesse de 
Maufrigneuse would shortly be a hero at court, where in the 
old days women were all-powerful. The Count had not 
made a bad choice. The dowagers told over all the gallant 
adventures of the Maufrigneuses from Louis XIII. to Louis 
XVI.—they spared to inquire into preceding reigns—and 
when all was done they were enchanted—Mme. de Maufri- 
gneuse was much praised for interesting herself in Vic- 
turnien. Any writer of plays in search of a piece of pure 
comedy would have found it well worth his while to listen 
to the Antiquities in conclave. 


Victurnien received charming letters from his father and 
aunt, and also from the Chevalier. That gentleman recalled 
himself to the Vidame’s memory. He had been at Spa with 
M. de Pamiers in 1778, after a certain journey made by a 
celebrated Hungarian princess. And Chesnel also wrote. 
The fond flattery to which the unhappy boy was only too well 
accustomed shone out of every page; and Mlle. Armande 
seemed to share half of Mme. de Maufrigneuse’s hap- 
piness. 

Thus happy in the approval of his family, the young Count 
made a spirited beginning in the perilous and costly ways of 
dandyism. He had five horses—he was moderate—de Marsay 
had fourteen! He returned the Vidame’s hospitality, even in- 
cluding Blondet in the invitation, as well as de Marsay and 
Rastignac. The dinner cost five hundred francs, and the noble 
provincial was féted on the same scale. Victurnien played a 
good deal, and, for his misfortune, at the fashionable game of 
whist. 

He laid out his days in busy idleness. Every day between 
twelve and three o’clock he was with the Duchess; after- 


212 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


wards he went to meet her in the Bois de Boulogne and ride 
beside her carriage. Sometimes the charming couple rode 
together, but this was early in fine summer mornings. 
Society, balls, the theatre, and gaiety filled the Count’s even- 
ing hours. Everywhere Victurnien made a brilliant figure; 
everywhere he flung the pearls of his wit broadcast. He gave 
his opinion on men, affairs, and events in profound sayings ; he 
would have put you in mind of a fruit-tree putting forth all 
its strength in blossom. He was leading an enervating life, 
wasteful of money, and even yet more wasteful, it may be, 
of a man’s soul; in that life the fairest talents are buried out 
of sight, the most incorruptible honesty perishes, the best- 
tempered springs of will are slackened. 

The Duchess, so white and fragile and angel-like, felt at- 
tracted to the dissipations of bachelor life; she enjoyed first 
nights, she liked anything amusing, anything improvised. 
Bohemian restaurants lay outside her experience; so d’Esgri- 
enon got up a charming little party at the Rocher de Cancale 
for her benefit, asked all the amiable scamps whom she 
cultivated and sermonized, and there was a vast amount of 
merriment, wit, and gaiety, and a corresponding bill to pay. 
That supper party led to others. And through it all Vic- 
turnien worshiped her as an angel. Mme. de Maufrigneuse 
for him was still an angel, untouched by any taint of earth; 
an angel at the Variétés, where she sat out the half-obscene, 
vulgar farces, which made her laugh; an angel through the 
cross-fire of highly-flavored jests and scandalous anecdotes, 
which enlivened a stolen frolic; a languishing angel in the 
latticed box at the Vaudeville; an angel while she criticised 
the postures of opera dancers with the experience of an elderly 
habitué of le cow de la reine; an angel at the Porte Saint- 
Martin, at the little boulevard theatres, at the masked balls, 
which she enjoyed like any schoolboy. She was an angel 
who asked him for the love that lives by self-abnegation and 
heroism and self-sacrifice ; an angel who would have her lover 
live like an English lord, with an income of a million francs. 
D’Esgrignon once exchanged a horse because the animal’s 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 213 


coat did not satisfy her notions. At play she was an angel, 
and certainly no bourgeoise that ever lived could have bidden 
d’Esgrignon “Stake for me!” in such an angelic way. She 
was so divinely reckless in her folly, that a man might well 
have sold his soul to the devil lest this angel should lose her 
taste for earthly pleasures. 


The first winter went by. The Count had drawn on M. 
Cardot for the trifling sum of thirty thousand francs over 
and above Chesnel’s remittance. As Cardot very carefully 
refrained from using his right of remonstrance, Victurnien 
now learned for the first time that he had overdrawn his ac- 
count. He was the more offended by an extremely polite re- 
fusal to make any further advance, since it so happened that 
he had just lost six thousand francs at play at the club, and 
he could not very well show himself there until they were 
paid. 

After growing indignant with Maitre Cardot, who had 
trusted him with thirty thousand francs (Cardot had written 
to Chesnel, but to the fair Duchess’ favorite he made the most 
of his so-called confidence in him), after all this, d Esgrignon 
was obliged to ask the lawyer to tell him how to set about 
raising the money, since debts of honor were in question. 

“Draw bills on your father’s banker, and take them to his 
correspondent; he, no doubt, will discount them for you. 
Then write to your family, and tell them to remit the amount 
to the banker.” 

An inner voice seemed to suggest du Croisier’s name in 
this predicament. He had seen du Croisier on his knees to 
the aristocracy, and of the man’s real disposition he was en- 
tirely ignorant. So to du Croisier he wrote a very offhand 
letter, informing him that he had drawn a bill of exchange 
on him for ten thousand franes, adding that the amount 
would be repaid on receipt of the letter either by M. Chesnel 
or by Mlle. Armande d’Esgrignon. Then he indited two 
touching epistles—one to Chesnel, another to his aunt. In 
the matter of going headlong to ruin, a young man often 


214 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


shows singular ingenuity and ability, and fortune favors him. 
In the morning Victurnien happened on the name of the Paris 
bankers in correspondence with du Croisier, and de Marsay 
furnished him with the Kellers’ address. De Marsay knew 
everything in Paris. The Kellers took the bill and gave him 
the sum without a word, after deducting the discount. The 
balance of the account was in du Croisier’s favor. 

But the gaming debt was as nothing in comparison with the 
state of things at home. Invoices showered in upon 
Victurnien. 

“T say! Do you trouble yourself about that sort of thing?” 
Rastignac said, laughing. “Are you putting them in order, 
my dear boy? I did not think you were so business-like.” 

“My dear fellow, it is quite time I thought about it; there 
are twenty odd thousand francs there.” 

De Marsay, coming in to look up d’Esgrignon for a steeple- 
chase, produced a dainty little pocket-book, took out twenty 
thousand francs, and handed them to him. 

“Tt is the best way of keeping the money safe,” said he; 
“YT am twice enchanted to have won it yesterday from my 
honored father, Milord Dudley.” 

Such French grace completely fascinated d’Esgrignon; he 
took it for friendship; and as to the money, punctually for- 
got to pay his debts with it, and spent it on his pleasures. 
The fact was that de Marsay was looking on with an unspeak- 
able pleasure while young d’Esgrignon “got out of his depth,” 
in dandy’s idiom ; it pleased de Marsay in all sorts of fondling 
ways to lay an arm on the lad’s shoulder; by and by he should 
feel its weight, and disappear the sooner. For de Marsay 
was jealous; the Duchess flaunted her love affair; she was not 
at home to other visitors when d’Esgrignon was with her. 
And besides, de Marsay was one of those savage humorists 
who delight in mischief, as Turkish women in the bath. So, 
when he had carried off the prize, and bets were settled at the 
tavern where they breakfasted, and a bottle or two of good 
wine had appeared, de Marsay turned to d’Esgrignon with a 
laugh: 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 215 


“Those bills that you are worrying over are not yours, I 
am sure.” 

“Hh! if they weren’t, why should he worry himself?” asked 
Rastignac. 

“And whose should they be?” d’Esgrignon inquired. 

“Then you do not know the Duchess’ position?” queried 
de Marsay, as he sprang into the saddle. 

“No,” said d’Esgrignon, his curiosity aroused. 

“Well, dear fellow, it is like this,” returned de Marsay— 
“thirty thousand francs to Victorine, eighteen thousand 
francs to Houbigaut, lesser amounts to Herbault, Nattier, 
Nourtier, and those Latour people,—altogether a hundred 
thousand francs.” 

“An angel!” cried d’Esgrignon, with eyes uplifted to 
heaven. 

“This is the bill for her wings,’ Rastignac cried face- 
tiously. 

“She owes all that, my dear boy,” continued de Marsay, 
“precisely because she is an angel. But we have all seen 
angels in this position,” he added, glancing at Rastignac; 
“there is this about women that is sublime: they understand 
nothing of money; they do not meddle with it, it is no affair 
of theirs; they are invited guests at the ‘banquet of life,’ as 
some poet or other said that came to an end in the work- 
house.” 

“How do you know this when I do not?” d’Esgrignon 
artlessly returned. 

“You are sure to be the last to know it, just as she is sure 
to be the last to hear that you are in debt.” 

“T thought she had a hundred thousand livres a year,” said 
d’Esgrignon. 

“Her husband,” replied de Aareay! “lives apart from her. 
He stays with his regiment and practises economy, for he 
has one or two little debts of his own as well, has our dear 
Duke. Where do you come from? Just learn to do as we do 
and keen our friends’ accounts for them. Mlle. Diane (J fell 
in love with her for the name’s sake), Mile. Diane d’Uxelles 


216 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


brought her husband sixty thousand livres of income; for the 
last eight years she has lived as if she had two hundred thou- 
sand. It is perfectly plain that at this moment her lands are 
mortgaged up to their full value; some fine morning the crash 
must come, and the angel will be put to flight by—must it be 
said ?—by sheriff’s officers that have the effrontery to lay 
hands on an angel just as they might take hold of one 
of us.” 

“Poor angel !” 

“Lord ! it costs a great deal to dwell in a Parisian heaven ; 
you must whiten your wings and your complexion every morn- 
ing,” said Rastignac. 

Now as the thought of confessing his debts to his beloved © 
Diane had passed through d’Esgrignon’s mind, something 
hke a shudder ran through him when he remembered that he 
still owed sixty thousand francs, to say nothing of bills to 
come for another ten thousand. He went back melancholy 
enough. His friends remarked his ill-disguised Sent 
tion, and spoke of it among themselves at dinner. 

“Young VEHsgrignon is getting out of his.depth. He is 
not up to Paris. He will blow his brains out. A little 
fool!” and so on and so on. 

D’Esgrignon, however, promptly took comfort. His serv- 
ant brought him two letters. The first was from Chesnel. 
A letter from Chesnel smacked of the stale grumbling faith- 
fulness of honesty and its consecrated formulas. With all 
respect he put it aside till the evening. But the second 
letter he read with unspeakable pleasure. In Ciceronian 
phrases, du Croisier groveled before him, like a Sganarelle 
before a Géronte, begging the young Count in future to 
spare him the affront of first depositing the amount of the 
bills which he should condescend to draw. The concluding 
phrase seemed meant to convey the idea that here was an open 
cashbox full of coin at the service of the noble d’Esgrignon 
family. So strong was the impression that Victurnien, like 
Sganarelle or Mascarille in the play. like everybody else who 
feels a twinge of conscience at his finger-tips, made an in- 
voluntary gesture, 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 217 


Now that he was sure of unlimited credit with the Kel- 
Jers, he opened Chesnel’s letter gaily. He had expected four 
full pages, full of expostulation to the brim; he glanced down 
the sheet for the familiar words “prudence,” “honor,” “de- 
termination to do right,” and the like, and saw something 
else instead which made his head swim. 


“MONSIEUR LE Comtr,—Of all my fortune I have now but 
two hundred thousand francs left. I beg of you not to ex- 
ceed that amount, if you should do one of the most devoted 
servants of your family the honor of taking it. I present my 
respects to you. CHESNEL.” 


“He is one of Plutarch’s men,” Victurnien said to himself, 
as he tossed the letter on the table. He felt chagrined; such 
magnanimity made him feel very small. 

“There! one must reform,” he thought; and instead of 
going to a restaurant and spending fifty or sixty francs over 
his dinner, he retrenched by dining with the Duchesse de 
Maufrigneuse, and told her about the letter. 

“T should like to see that man,” she said, letting her eyes 
shine like two fixed stars. 

‘What would you do?” 

“Why, he should manage my affairs for me.” 

Diane de Maufrigneuse was divinely dressed; she meant 
her toilet to do honor to Victurnien. The levity with which 
she treated his affairs or, more properly speaking, his debts 
fascinated him. 

The charming pair went to the Italiens. Never had that 
beautiful and enchanting woman looked more seraphic, more 
ethereal. Nobody in the house could have believed that she had 
debts which reached the sum total mentioned by de Marsay 
that very morning. No single one of the cares of earth had 
touched that sublime forehead of hers, full of woman’s pride 
of the highest kind. In her, a pensive air seemed to be 
some gleam of an earthly love, nobly extinguished. The men 
for the most part were wagering that Victurnien, with his 


218 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


handsome figure, laid her under contribution; while the wo- 
men, sure of their rival’s subterfuge, admired her as Michael 
Angelo admired Raphael, in petto. Victurnien loved Diane, 
according to one of these ladies, for the sake of her hair— 
she had the most beautiful fair hair in France; another main- 
tained that Diane’s pallor was her principal merit, for she 
was not really well shaped, her dress made the most of her 
figure; yet others thought that Victurnien loved her for her 
foot, her one good point, for she had a flat figure. But 
(and this brings the present-day manner of Paris before you 
in an astonishing manner) whereas all the men said that the 
Duchess was subsidizing Victurnien’s splendor, the women, 
on the other hand, gave people to understand that it was Vic- 
turnien who paid for the angel’s wings, as Rastignac said. 

As they drove back again, Victurnien had it on the tip of 
his tongue a score of times to open this chapter, for the 
Duchess’ debts weighed more heavily upon his mind than 
his own;-and a score of times his purpose died away before 
the attitude of the divine creature beside him. He could see 
her by the light of the carriage lamps; she was bewitching 
in the love-languor which always seemed to be extorted by 
the violence of passion from her madonna’s purity. The 
Duchess did not fall into the mistake of talking of her virtue, 
of her angel’s estate, as provincial women, her imitators, do. 
She was far too clever. She made him, for whom she made 
such great sacrifices, think these things for himself. At the 
end of six months she could make him feel that a harmless 
kiss on her hand was a deadly sin; she contrived that every 
grace should be extorted from her, and this with such con- 
summate art, that it was impossible not to feel that she was 
more an angel than ever when she yielded. 

None but Parisian women are clever enough always to 
give a new charm to the moon, to romanticize the stars, to 
roll in the same sack of charcoal and emerge each time whiter 
than ever. This is the highest refinement of intellectual and 
Parisian civilization. Women beyond the Rhine or the Eng- 
lish Channel believe nonsense of this sort when they utter 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 219 


it; while your Parisienne makes her lover believe that she is 
an angel, the better to add to his bliss by flattering his vanity 
on both sides—temporal and spiritual. Certain persons, 
detractors of the Duchess, maintain that she was the first 
dupe of her own white magic. A wicked slander. The 
Duchess believed in nothing but herself. 

By the end of the year 1823 the Kellers had supplied Vic- 
turnien with two hundred thousand franes, and neither Ches- 
nel nor Mlle. Armande knew anything about it. He had had, 
besides, two thousand crowns from Chesnel at one time and 
another, the better to hide the sources on which he was 
drawing. He wrote lying letters to his poor father and aunt, 
who lived on, happy and deceived, like most happy people 
under the sun. The insidious current of life in Paris was 
bringing a dreadful catastrophe upon the great and noble 
house ; and only one person was in the secret of it. This was 
du Croisier. He rubbed his hands gleefully as he went. past 
in the dark and looked in at the Antiquities. He had good 
hope of attaining his ends; and his ends were not, as hereto- 
fore, the simple ruin of the d’Esgrignons, but the dishonor 
of their house. He felt instinctively at such times that his 
revenge was at hand; he scented itin the wind! He had been 
sure of it indeed from the day when he discovered that the 
young Count’s burden of debt was growing too heavy for the 
boy to bear. 

Du Croisier’s first step was to rid himself of his most 
hated enemy, the venerable Chesnel. The good old man lived 
in the Rue du Bercail, in a house with a steep-pitched roof. 
There was a little paved courtyard in front, where the rose- 
bushes grew and clambered up to the windows of the upper 
story. Behind lay a little country garden, with its box-edged 
borders, shut in by damp, gloomy-looking walls. The prim, 
gray-painted street door, with its wicket opening and bell 
attached, announced quite as plainly as the official scutcheon 
that “a notary lives here.” 

It was half-past five o’clock in the afternoon, at which hour 
the old man usually sat digesting his dinner. He had drawn 


220 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


his black leather-covered armchair before the fire, and put 
on his armor, a painted pasteboard contrivance shaped like 
a top boot, which protected his stockinged legs from the heat 
of the fire; for it was one of the good man’s habits to sit 
for a while after dinner with his feet on the dogs and to stir 
up the glowing coals. He always ate too much; he was fond 
of good living. Alas! if it had not been for that little fail- 
ing, would he not have been more perfect than it is permitted 
to mortal man to be? Chesnel had finished his cup of coffee. 
His old housekeeper had just taken away the tray which had 
been used for the purpose for the last twenty years. He was 
waiting for his clerks to go before he himself went out for his 
game at cards, and meanwhile he was thinking—no need to 
ask of whom or what. A day seldom passed but he asked him- 
self, “Where is he? What is he doing?” He thought that 
the Count was in Italy with the fair Duchesse de Maufri- 
eneuse. 

When every franc of a man’s fortune has come to him, 
not by inheritance, but through his own earning and saving, 
it is one of his sweetest pleasures to look back upon the pains 
that have gone to the making of it, and then to plan out 
a future for his crowns. This it is to conjugate the verb “to 
enjoy” in every tense. And the old lawyer, whose affections 
were all bound up in a single attachment, was thinking that 
all the carefully-chosen, well-tilled land which he had pinched 
and scraped to buy would one day go to round the d’Esgri- 
gnon estates, and the thought doubled his pleasure. His 
pride swelled as he sat at his ease in the old armchair; and 
the building of glowing coals, which he raised with the tongs, 
sometimes seemed to him to be the old noble house built up 
again, thanks to his care. He pictured the young Count’s 
prosperity, and told himself that he bad done well to live for 
such an aim. Chesnel was not lacking in intelligence; sheer 
goodness was not the sole source of his great devotion; he 
had a pride of his own; he was like the nobles who used to 
rebuild a pillar in a cathedral to inscribe their name upon it; 
he meant his name to be remembered by the great house which 


THH JEALOUSIENS OF A COUNTRY TOWN 221 


he had restored. Future generations of d’Esgrignons should 
speak of old Chesnel. Just at this point his old housekeeper 
came in with signs of extreme alarm in her countenance. 

“Ts the house on fire, Brigitte?” 

“Something of the sort,” said she. “Here is M. du Croisier 
wanting to speak to you He 

“M. du Croisier,” repeated the old lawyer. <A stab of cold 
misgiving gave him so sharp a pang at the heart that he 
dropped the tongs. “M. du Croisier here!” thought he, 
“our chief enemy !” 

Du Croisier came in at that moment, like a cat that scents 
milk in a dairy. He made a bow, seated himself quietly in 
the easy-chair which the lawyer brought forward, and pro- 
duced a bill for two hundred and twenty-seven thousand 
francs, principal and interest, the total amount of sums ad- 
vanced to M. Victurnien in bills of exchange drawn upon du 
Croisier, and duly honored by him. Of these, he now de- 
manded immediate payment, with a threat of proceeding to 
extremities with the heir-presumptive of the house. Chesnel 
turned the unlucky letters over one by one, and asked the 
enemy to keep the secret. This he engaged to do if he were 
paid within forty-eight hours. He was pressed for money; 
he had obliged various manufacturers; and there followed a 
series of the financial fictions by which neither notaries nor 
borrowers are deceived. Chesnel’s eyes were dim; he could 
scarcely keep back the tears. There was but one way of 
raising the money; he must mortgage his own lands up to 
their full value. But when du Croisier learned the difficulty 
in the way of repayment, he forgot that he was hard pressed ; 
he no longer wanted ready money, and suddenly came out 
with a proposal to buy the old lawyer’s property. The sale 
was completed within two days. Poor Chesnel could not 
bear the thought of the son of the house undergoing a five 
years’ imprisonment for debt. So in a few days’ time noth- 
ing remained to him but his practice, the sums that were due 
to him, and the house in which he lived. Chesnel, stripped 
of all his lands, paced to and fro in his private office, paneled 





222 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


with dark oak, his eyes fixed on the beveled edges of the 
chestnut cross-beams of the ceiling, or on the trellised vines 
in the garden outside. He was not thinking of his farms 
now, nor of Le Jard, his dear house in the country ; not he. 

“What will become of him? He ought to come back; they 
must marry him to some rich heiress,” he said to himself; 
and his eyes were dim, his head heavy. 

How to approach Mlle. Armande, and in what words to 
break the news to her, he did not know. The man who had 
just paid the debts of the family quaked at the thought of con- 
fessing these things. He went from the Rue du Bercail to the 
Hotel d’Esgrignon with pulses throbbing like some girl’s heart 
when she leaves her father’s roof by stealth, not to return 
again till she ts a mother and her heart is broken. 

Mile. Armande had just received a charming letter, charm- 
ing in its hypocrisy. Her nephew was the happiest man 
under the sun. He had been to the baths, he had been 
traveling in Italy with Mme. de Maufrigneuse, and now sent 
his journal to his aunt. Every sentence was instinct with 
love. ‘There were enchanting descriptions of Venice, and 
fascinating appreciations of the great works of Venetian art; 
there were most wonderful pages full of the Duomo at Milan, 
and again of Florence; he described the Apennines, and 
how they differed from the Alps, and how in some village 
like Chiavari happiness lay all around you, ready made. 

The poor aunt was under the spell. She saw the far-off 
country of love, she saw, hovering above the land, the angel 
whose tenderness gave to all that beauty a burning glow. 
She was drinking in the letter at long draughts; how should 
it have been otherwise? The girl who had put love from her 
was now a woman ripened by repressed and pent-up passion, 
by all the longings continually and gladly offered up as a 
sacrifice on the altar of the hearth. Mlle. Armande was not 
like the Duchess. She did not look like an angel. She was 
rather like the little, straight, slim and slender, ivory-tinted 
statues, which those wonderful sculptors, the builders of 
cathedrals, placed here and there about the buildings. Wild 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 223 


plants sometimes find a hold in the damp niches, and weave 
a crown of beautiful bluebell flowers about the carved stone. 
At this moment the blue buds were unfolding in the fair 
saint’s eyes. Mlle. Armande loved the charming couple as 
if they stood apart from real life; she saw nothing wrong in 
a married woman’s love for Victurnien; any other woman she 
would have judged harshly ; but in this case, not to have loved 
her nephew would have been the unpardonable sin. Aunts, 
mothers, and sisters have a code of their own for nephews and 
sons and brothers. 

Mlle. Armande was in Venice; she saw the lines of fairy 
palaces that stand on either side of the Grand Canal; she was 
sitting in Victurnien’s gondola ;he was telling her what happi- 
ness it had been to feel that the Duchess’ beautiful hand lay in 
his own, to know that she loved him as they floated together on 
the breast of the amorous Queen of Italian seas. But even in 
that moment of bliss, such as angels know, some one appeared 
in the garden walk. It was Chesnel! Alas! the sound of 
his tread on the gravel might have been the sound of the 
sands running from Death’s hour-glass to be trodden under 
his unshod feet. ‘The sound, the sight of a dreadful hopeless- 
ness in Chesnel’s face, gave her that painful shock which fol- 
lows a sudden recall of the senses when the soul has sent them 
forth into the world of dreams. 

“What is it?” she cried, as if some stab had pierced to her 
heart. 

“All is lost!” said Chesnel. “M. le Comte will bring dis- 
honor upon the house if we do not set it in order.” He held 
out the bills, and described the agony of the last few days in 
a few simple but vigorous and touching words. 

“He is deceiving us! The miserable boy!” cried Mlle. 
Armande, her heart swelling as the blood surged back to it 
in heavy throbs. 

“Let us both say mea culpa, mademoiselle,” the old lawyer 
said stoutly; “we have always allowed him to have his own 
way; he needed stern guidance; he could not have it from 
you with your inexperience of life; nor from me, for he would 
not listen tome. He has had no mother.” 


224 THE JHALOUSIHNS OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


“Fate sometimes deals terribly with a noble house in de- 
cay,” said Mlle. Armande, with tears in her eyes. 

The Marquis came up as she spoke. He had been walking 
up and down the garden while he read the letter sent by his 
son after his return. Victurnien gave his itinerary from an 
aristocrat’s point of view; telling how he had been welcomed 
by the greatest Italian families of Genoa, Turin, Milan, 
Florence, Venice, Rome, and Naples. This flattering recep- 
tion he owed to his name, he said, and partly, perhaps, to the 
Duchess as well. In short, he had made his appearance 
magnificently, and as befitted a d’Esgrignon. 

“Have you been at your old tricks, Chesnel?” asked the 
Marquis. 

Mlle. Armande made Chesnel an eager sign, dreadful to 
see. 'They understood each other. The poor father, the 
flower of feudal honor, must die with all his illusions. <A 
compact of silence and devotion was ratified between the two 
noble hearts by a simple inclination of the head. 

“Ah! Chesnel, it was not exactly in this way that the 
d’Esgrignons went into Italy at the end of the fourteenth 
century, when Marshal Trivulzio, in the service of the King 
of France, served under a d’Esgrignon, who had a Bayard too 
under his orders. Other times, other pleasures. And, for 
that matter, the Duchesse de Maufrigneuse is at least the 
equal of a Marchesa di Spinola.” 

And, on the strength of his genealogical tree, the old man 
swung himself off with a coxcomh’s air, as if he himself had 
once made a conquest of the Marchesa di Spinola, and still 
possessed the Duchess of to-day. 

The two companions in unhappiness were left together on 
the garden bench, with the same thought for a bond of union. 
They sat for a long time, saying little save vague, unmean- 
ing words, watching the father walk away in his happiness, 
gesticulating as if he were talking to himself. 

“What will become of him now?” Mile. Armande asked 
after a while. 

“Du Croisier has sent instructions to the MM. Keller; he 


THH JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 225 


is not to be allowed to draw any more without authoriza- 
tion.” 

“And there are debts,” continued Mlle. Armande. 

“T am afraid so.” 

“Tf he is left without resources, what will he do?” 

“J dare not answer that question to myself.” 

“But he must be drawn out of that life, he must come back 
to us, or he will have nothing left.” 

“And nothing else left to him,” Chesnel said gloomily. But 
Mlle. Armande as yet did not and could not understand the 
full force of those words. 

“Is there any hope of getting him away from that woman, 
that Duchess? Perhaps she leads him on.” 

“He would not stick at a crime to be with her,” said 
Chesnel, trying to pave the way to an intolerable thought by 
others less intolerable. 

“Crime,” repeated Mlle. Armande. “Oh, Chesnel, no one 
but you would think of such a thing!” she added, with a 
withering look; before such a look from a woman’s eyes no 
mortal can stand. “There is but one crime that a noble 
can commit—the crime of high treason; and when he is be- 
headed, the block is covered with a black cloth, as it is for 
kings.” 

“The times have changed very much,” said Chesnel, shak- 
ing his head. Victurnien had thinned his last thin, white 
hairs. “Our Martyr-King did not die like the English King 
Charles.” 

That thought soothed Mile. Armande’s splendid indigna- 
tion; a shudder ran through her; but still she did not realize 
what Chesnel meant. 

“To-morrow we will decide what we must do,” she said; 
“it needs thought. At the worst, we have our lands.” 

“Yes,” said Chesnel. “You and M. le Marquis own the 
estate conjointly; but the larger part of it is yours. You 
can raise money upon it without saying a word to him.” 

The players at whist, reversis, boston, and _back- 


226 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


gammon noticed that evening that Mlle. Armande’s features, © 
usually so serene and pure, showed signs of agitation. 

“That poor heroic child!” said the old Marquise de 
Castéran, “‘she must be suffering still. A woman never knows 
what her sacrifices to her family may cost her.” 

Next day it was arranged with Chesnel that Mlle. Armande 
should go to Paris to snatch her nephew from perdition. If 
any one could carry off Victurnien, was it not the woman 
whose motherly heart yearned over him? Mlle. Armande 
made up her mind that she would go to the Duchesse de 
Maufrigneuse and tell her all. Still, some sort of pretext 
was necessary to explain the journey to the Marquis and the 
whole town. At some cost to her maidenly delicacy, Mlle. 
Armande allowed it to be thought that she was suffering from 
a complaint which called for a consultation of skilled and 
celebrated physicians. Goodness knows whether the town 
talked of this or no! But Mlle. Armande saw that some- 
thing far more to her than her own reputation was at stake. 
She set out. Chesnel brought her his last bag of louis; she 
took it, without paying any attention to it, as she took her 
white capuchine and thread mittens. 

“Generous girl! What grace!” he said, as he put her into 
the carriage with her maid, a woman who looked like a gray 
sister. 

Du Croisier had thought out his revenge, as provincials 
think out everything. For studying out a question in all its 
bearings, there are no folk in this world like savages, peasants, 
and provincials; and this is how, when they proceed from 
thought to action, you find every contingency provided for 
from beginning to end. Diplomatists are children compared 
with these classes of mammals; they have time before them, 
an element which is lacking to those people who are obliged 
to think about a great many things, to superintend the prog- 
ress of all kinds of schemes, to look forward for all sorts of 
contingencies in the wider interests of human affairs. Had 
du Croisier sounded poor Victurnien’s nature so well, that 
he foresaw how easily the young Count would lend himself 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 227 


to his schemes of revenge? Or was he merely profiting by 
an opportunity for which he had been on the watch for 
years? One circumstance there was, to be sure, in his man- 
ner of preparing his stroke, which shows a certain skill. 
Who was it that gave du Croisier warning of the moment? 
Was it the Kellers? Or could it have been President du Ron- 
ceret’s son, then finishing his law studies in. Paris? 

Du Croisier wrote to Victurnien, telling him that the Kel- 
iers had been instructed to advance no more money; and that 
letter was timed to arrive just as the Duchesse de Maufri- 
gneuse was in the utmost perplexity, and the Comte d’Esgri- 
gnon consumed by the sense of a poverty as dreadful as it was 
cunningly hidden. The wretched young man was exerting 
all his ingenuity to seem as if he were wealthy ! 

Now in the letter which informed the victim that in future 
the Kellers would make no further advances without security, 
there was a tolerably wide space left between the forms of 
an exaggerated respect and the signature. It was quite easy 
to tear off the best part of the letter and convert it into a 
bill of exchange for any amount. ‘The diabolical missive had 
even been enclosed in an envelope, so that the other side of the 
sheet was blank. When it arrived, Victurnien was writhing 
in the lowest depths of despair. After two years of the most 
prosperous, sensual, thoughtless, and luxurious life, he found 
himself face to face with the most inexorable poverty ; it was 
an absolute impossibility to procure money. There had been 
some throes of crisis before the journey came to an end. 
With the Duchess’ help he had managed to extort various 
sums from bankers; but it had beeh with the greatest 
difficulty, and, moreover, those very amounts were about to 
start up again before him as overdue bills of exchange in all 
their rigor, with a stern summons to pay from the Bank 
of France and the commercial court. All through the en- 
joyments of those last weeks the unhappy boy had felt the 
point of the Commander’s sword; at every supper-party he 
heard, like Don Juan, the heavy tread of the statue outside 
upon the stairs. He felt an unaccountable creeping of the flesh, 


228 THE JHALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


a warning that the sirocco of debt is nigh at hand. He 
reckoned on chance. For five years he had never turned up 
a blank in the lottery ; his purse had always been replenished. 
After Chesnel had come du Croisier (he told himself), after 
du Croisier surely another gold mine would pour out its 
wealth. And besides, he was winning great sums at play; 
his luck at play had saved him several unpleasant steps al- 
ready; and often a wild hope sent him to the Salon des 
Ktrangers only to lose his winnings afterwards at whist at the 
club. His life for the past two months had been like the 
immortal finale of Mozart’s Don Giovanni; and of a truth, 
if a young man has come to such a plight as Victurnien’s, 
that finale is enough to make him shudder. Can anything © 
better prove the enormous power of music than that sublime 
rendering of the disorder and confusion arising out of a life 
wholly given up to sensual indulgence? that fearful picture 
of a deliberate effort to shut out the thought of debts and 
duels, deceit and evil luck? In that music Mozart disputes 
the palm with Moliere. The terrific finale, with its glow, its 
power, its despair and laughter, its grisly spectres and elfish 
women, centres about the prodigal’s last effort made in the 
after-supper heat of wine, the frantic struggle which ends 
the drama. Victurnien was living through this infernal 
poem, and alone. He saw visions of himself—a friendless, 
solitary outcast, reading the words carved on the stone, the 
last words on the last page of the book that had held him 
spellbound—THE END! 

Yes; for him all would be at an end, and that soon. Al- 
ready he saw the cold, ironical eyes which his associates would 
turn upon him, and their amusement over his downfall. 
Some of them he knew were playing high on that gambling- 
table kept open all day long at the Bourse, or in private 
houses at the clubs, and anywhere and everywhere in Paris; 
but not one of these men could spare a banknote to save an 
intimate. There was no help for it—Chesnel must be ruined. 
He had devoured Chesnel’s living. 

He sat with the Duchess in their box at the Italiens, the 





Cat 
Wi 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 229 


whole house envying them their happiness, and while he 
smiled at her, all the Furies were tearing at his heart. In- 
deed, to give some idea of the depths of doubt, despair, and 
incredulity in which the boy was groveling; he who so clung 
to life—the life which the angel had made so fair—who so 
loved it, that he would have stooped to baseness merely to 
live; he, the pleasure-loving scapegrace, the degenerate 
d’Hsgrignon, had even taken out his pistols, had gone so far 
as to think of suicide. He who would never have brooked the 
appearance of an insult was abusing himself in language 
which no man is likely to hear except from himself. 

He left du Croisier’s letter lying open on the bed. 
Joséphin had brought it in at nine o’clock. Victurnien’s 
furniture had been seized, but he slept none the less. After 
he came back from the Opéra, he and the Duchess had gone 
to a voluptuous retreat, where they often spent a few hours 
together after the most brilliant court balls and evening 
parties and gaieties. Appearances were very cleverly saved. 
Their love-nest was a garret like any other to all appearance ; 
Mme. de Maufrigneuse was obliged to bow her head with its 
court feathers or wreath of flowers to enter in at the door; 
but within all the peris of the East had made the chamber 
fair. And now that the Count was on the brink of ruin, he 


had longed to bid farewell to the dainty nest, which he had 


built to realize a day-dream worthy of his angel. Presently 
adversity would break the enchanted eggs; there would be no 
brood of white doves, no brilliant tropical birds, no more of 
the thousand bright-winged fancies which hover above our 
heads even to the last days of our lives. Alas! alas! in three 
days he must be gone; his bills had fallen into the hands of 
the money-lenders, the law proceedings had reached the last 
stage. 

An evil thought crossed his brain. He would fly with 
the Duchess; they would live in some undiscovered nook in 
the wilds of North or South America; but—he would fly with 
a fortune, and leave his creditors to confront their bills. To 
earry out the plan, he had only to cut off the lower portion 


230 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


of that letter with du Croisier’s signature, and to fill in the 
figures to turn it into a bill, and present it to the Kellers. 
There was a dreadful struggle with temptation; tears were 
shed, but the honor of the family triumphed, subject to one 
condition. Victurnien wanted to be sure of his beautiful 
Diane; he would do nothing unless she should consent to 
their flight. So he went to the-Duchess in the Rue Faubourg 
Saint-Honoré, and found her in coquettish morning dress, 
which cost as much in thought as in money, a fit dress in 
which to begin to play the part of Angel at eleven o’clock in 
the morning. 

Mme. de Maufrigneuse was somewhat pensive. Cares _ 
of a similar kind were gnawing her mind; but she took them 
gallantly. Of all the various feminine organizations 
classified by physiologists, there is one that has something 
indescribably terrible about it. Such women combine 
strength of soul and clear insight, with a faculty for prompt 
decision, and a recklessness, or rather resolution in a crisis 
which would shake a man’s nerves. And these powers lie out 
of sight beneath an appearance of the most graceful helpless- 
ness. Such women only among womankind afford examples 
of a phenomenon which Buffon recognized in men alone, to 
wit, the union, or rather the disunion, of two different natures 
in one human being. Other women are wholly women; 
wholly tender, wholly devoted, wholly mothers, completely 
null and completely tiresome; nerves and brain and blood 
are all in harmony; but the Duchess, and others like her, 
are capable of rising to the highest heights of feelings, or 
of showing the most selfish insensipility. It is one of the 
glories of Moliére that he has given us a wonderful portrait 
of such a woman, from one point of view only, in that great- 
est of his full-length figures—Céliméne; Céliméne is the 
typical aristocratic woman, as Figaro, the second edition of 
Panurge, represents the people. 

So the Duchess, being overwhelmed with debt, laid it upon 
herself to give no more than a moment’s thought to the 
avalanche of cares, and to take her resolution once and for 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 231 


all; Napoleon could take up or lay down the burden of his 
thoughts in precisely the same way. The Duchess possessed 
the faculty of standing aloof from herself; she could look on 
as a spectator at the crash when it came, instead of submitting 
to be buried beneath. This was certainly great, but repulsive 
in a woman. When she awoke in the morning she collected 
her thoughts; and by the time she had begun to dress she 
had looked at the danger in its fullest extent and faced the 
possibilities of terrific downfall. She pondered. Should 
she take refuge in a foreign country? Or should she go to 
the King and declare her debts to him? Or again, should she 
fascinate a du Tillet or a Nucingen, and gamble on the 
stock exchange to pay her creditors? The city man would 
find the money; he would be intelligent enough to bring her 
nothing but the profits, without so much as mentioning the 
losses, a piece of delicacy which would gloss all over. The 
catastrophe, and these various ways of averting it, had all 
been reviewed quite coolly, calmly, and without trepida- 
tion. 

As a naturalist takes up some king of butterflies and 
fastens him down on cotton-wool with a pin, so Mme. de 
Maufrigneuse had plucked love out of her heart while she 
pondered the necessity of the moment, and was quite ready to 
replace the beautiful passion on its immaculate setting so 
soon as her duchess’ coronet was safe. She knew none of 
the hesitation which Cardinal Richelieu hid from all the world 
but Pére Joseph; none of the doubts that Napoleon kept at 
first entirely to himself. “Hither the one or the other,” she 
told herself. 

She was sitting by the fire, giving orders for her toilette 
for a drive in the Bois if the weather should be fine, when 
Victurnien came in. 

The Comte d’Esgrignon, with all his stifled capacity, his 
so keen intellect, was in exactly the state which might have 
been looked for in the woman. His heart was beating 
violently, the perspiration broke out over him as he stood 
in his dandy’s trappings; he was afraid as yet to lay a hand 


232 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


on the corner-stone which upheld the pyramid of his life 
with Diane. So much it cost him to know the truth. The 
cleverest men are fain to deceive themselves on one or two 
points if the truth once known is likely to humiliate them 
in their own eyes, and damage themselves with themselves. 
Victurnien forced his own irresolution into the field by com- 
mitting himself. 

“What is the matter with you?” Diane de Maufrigneuse 
had said at once, at the sight of her beloved Victurnien’s 
face. 

“Why, dear Diane, I am in such perplexity; a man gone 
to the bottom and at his last gasp is happy in comparison.” 

“Pshaw ! it is nothing,” said she; “you area child. Let us 
see now; tell me about it.” 

“T am hopelessly in debt. I have come to the end of my 
tether.” 

“Ts that all?” said she, smiling at him. “Money matters 
can always be arranged somehow or other; nothing is ir- 
retrievable except disasters in love.” 

Victurnien’s mind being set at rest by this swift com- 
prehension of his position, he unrolled the bright-colored 
web of his life for the last two years and a half; but it was 
the seamy side of it which he displayed with something of 
genius, and still more of wit, to his Diane. He told his tale 
with the inspiration of the moment, which fails no one in 
great crises; he had sufficient artistic skill to set it off by a 
varnish of delicate scorn for men and things. It was an 
aristocrat who spoke. And the Duchess listened as she could 
listen. | 

One knee was raised, for she sat with her foot on a stool. 
She rested her elbow on her knee and leant her face on her 
hand so that her fingers closed daintily over her shapely chin. 
Her eyes never left his; but thoughts by myriads flitted under 
the blue surface, like gleams of stormy light between two 
clouds. Her forehead was calm, her mouth gravely intent— 
grave with love; her lips were knotted fast by Victurnien’s 
lips. ‘To have her listening thus was to believe that a divine 





THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 233 


love flowed from her heart. Wherefore, when the Count had 
proposed flight to this soul, so closely knit to his own, he could 
not help crying, “You are an angel!” 

The fair Maufrigneuse made silent answer; but she had 
not spoken as yet. 

“Good, very good,” she said at last. (She had not given 
herself up to the love expressed in her face; her mind had 
been entirely absorbed by deep-laid schemes which she kept to 
herself.) “But that is not the question, dear.” (The 
“angel” was only “that” by this time.) “Let us think of 
your affairs. Yes, we will go, and the sooner the better. Ar- 
range it all; I will follow you. It is glorious to leave Paris 
and the world behind. I will set about my preparations in 
such a way that no one can suspect anything.” 

I will follow you! Just so Mile. Mars might have spoken 
those words to send a thrill through two thousand listening 
men and women. When a Duchesse de Maufrigneuse offers, 
in such words, to make such a sacrifice to love, she has paid 
her debt. How should Victurnien speak of sordid details 
after that? He could so much the better hide his 
schemes, because Diane was particularly careful not to in- 
quire into them. She was now, and always, as de Marsay 
said, an invited guest at a banquet wreathed with roses, a 
banquet which mankind, as in duty bound, made ready for 
her. 

Victurnien would not go till the promise had been sealed. 
He must draw courage from his happiness before he could 
bring himself to do a deed on which, as he inwardly told 
himself, people would be certain to put a bad construction. 
Still (and this was the thought that decided him) he counted 
on his aunt and father to hush up the affair; he even counted 
on Chesnel. Chesnel would think of one more compromise. 
Besides, “this business,” as he called it in his thoughts, was 
the only way of raising money on the family estate. With 
three hundred thousand francs, he and Diane would lead a 
happy life hidden in some palace in Venice; and there they 
would forget the world. They went through their romance 
in advance. 


234 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


Next day Victurnien made out a bill for three hundred 
thousand franes, and took it to the Kellers. The Kellers 
advanced the money, for du Croisier happened to have a 
balance at the time; but they wrote to let him know that he 
must not draw again on them without giving them notice. 
Du Croisier, much astonished, asked for a statement of ac- 
counts. It was sent. Everything was explained. The day 
of his vengeance had arrived. 


When Victurnien had drawn “his” money, he took it to 
Mme. de Maufrigneuse. She locked up the banknotes in 
her desk, and proposed to bid the world farewell by going to 
the Opéra to see it for the last time. Victurnien was 
thoughtful, absent, and uneasy. He was beginning to reflect. 
He thought that his seat in the Duchess’ box might cost him 
dear; that perhaps, when he had put the three hundred thou- 
sand francs in safety, it would be better to travel post, to 
fall at Chesnel’s feet, and tell him all. But before they left 
the opera-house, the Duchess, in spite of herself, gave Vic- 
turnien an adorable glance, her eyes were shining with the 
desire to go back once more to bid farewell to the nest which 
she loved so much. And boy that he was, he lost a 
night. | 

The next day, at three o’clock, he was back again at the 
Hotel de Maufrigneuse; he had come to take the Duchess’ 
orders for that night’s escape. And, “Why should we go?” 
asked she; “I have thought it all out. The Vicomtesse de 
Beauséant and the Duchesse de Langeais disappeared. If I 
go too, it will be something quite commonplace. We will 
brave the storm. It will be a far finer thing to do. I am 
sure of success.” Victurnien’s eyes dazzled; he felt as if his 
skin were dissolving and the blood oozing out all over him. 

“What is the matter with you?” cried the fair Diane, notic- 
ing a hesitation which a woman never forgives. Your truly 
adroit lover will hasten to agree with any fancy that Woman 
may take into her head, and suggest reasons for doing other- 
wise, while leaving her free exercise of her right to change 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 235 


her mind, her intentions, and sentiments generally as often as 
she pleases. Victurnien was angry for the first time, angry 
with the wrath of a weak man of poetic temperament ; it was 
a storm of rain and lightning flashes, but no thunder fol- 
lowed. The angel on whose faith he had risked more than 
his life, the honor of his house, was very roughly handled. 

“So,” said she, “we have come to this after eighteen 
months of tenderness! You are unkind, very unkind. Go 
away !—I do not want to see you again. I thought that you 
loved me. You do not.” 

“TI do not love you?” repeated he, thunderstruck by the re- 





proach. 
“No, monsieur.” 
“And yet ” he cried. “Ah! if you but knew what I 


have just done for your sake !” 

“And how have you done so much for me, monsieur? As 
if a man ought not to do anything for a woman that has done 
so much for him.” 

“You are not worthy to know it!” Victurnien cried in a 
passion of anger. 

“Oh a 

After that sublime “Oh!” Diane bowed her head on her 
hand and sat, still, cold, and implacable as angels naturally 
may be expected to do, seeing that they share none of the 
passions of humanity. At the sight of the woman he loved 
in this terrible attitude, Victurnien forgot his danger. Had 
he not just that moment wronged the most angelic creature 
on earth? He longed for forgiveness, he threw himself be- 
fore her, he kissed her feet, he pleaded, he wept. Two whole 
hours the unhappy young man spent in all kinds of follies, 
only to meet the same cold face, while the great silent tears 
dropping one by one, were dried as soon as they fell lest the 
unworthy lover should try to wipe them away. The Duchess 
was acting a great agony, one of those hours which stamp 
the woman who passes through them as something august and 
sacred. 

Two more hours went by. By this time the Count had 


236 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


gained possession of Diane’s hand; it felt cold and spiritless. 
The beautiful hand, with all the treasures in its grasp, might 
have been supple wood; there was nothing of Diane in it; 
he had taken it, it had not been given to him. As for Vic- 
turnien, the spirit had ebbed out of his frame, he had ceased 
to think. He would not have seen the sun in heaven. What 
was to be done? What course should he take? What resolu- 
tion should he make? ‘The man who can keep his head in 
such circumstances must be made of the same stuff as the 
convict who spent the night in robbing the Bibliothéque Royale 
of its gold medals, and repaired to his honest brother in the 
morning with a request to melt down the plunder. ‘What is 
to be done?” cried the brother. ‘Make me some coffee,” 
replied the thief. Victurnien sank into a bewildered stupor, 
darkness settled down over his brain. Visions of past 
rapture flitted across the misty gloom like the figures that 
Raphael painted against a black background; to these he 
must bid farewell. Inexorable and disdainful, the Duchess 
played with the tip of her scarf. She looked in irritation 
at Victurnien from time to time; she coquetted with memo- 
ries, she spoke to her lover of his rivals as if anger had finally 
decided her to prefer one of them to a man who could so 
change in one moment after twenty-eight months of love. 
“Ah! that charming young Félix de Vandenesse, so faith- 
ful as he was to Mme. de Mortsauf, would never have per- 
mitted himself such a scene! He ean love, can de 
Vandenesse! De Marsay, that terrible de Marsay, such a tiger 
as every one thought him, was rough with other men; but, 
like all strong men, he kept his gentleness for women. 
Montriveau trampled the Duchesse de Langeais under foot, as 
Othello killed Desdemona, in a burst of fury which at any 
rate proved the extravagance of his love. It was not like a 
paltry squabble. There was rapture in being so crushed. 
Little, fair-haired, slim, and slender men loved to torment 
women; they could only reign over poor, weak creatures; it 
pleased them to have some ground for believing that they 
were men. The tyranny of love was their one chance of as- 


THH JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 237 


serting their power. She did not know why she had put herself 
at the mercy of fair hair. Such men as de Marsay, 
Montriveau, and Vandenesse, dark-haired and well grown, 
had a ray of sunlight in their eyes.” 

It was a storm of epigrams. Her speeches, like bullets, 
came hissing past his ears. Every word that Diane hurled at 
him was triple-barbed; she humiliated, stung, and wounded 
him with an art that was all her own, as half a score 
of savages can torture an enemy bound to a stake. 

“You are mad!” he cried at last, at the end of his patience, 
and out he went in God knows what mood. He drove as if he 
had never handled the reins before, locked his wheels in the 
wheels of other vehicles, collided with the curbstone in the 
Place Louis-Quinze, went he knew not whither. The horse, 
left to its own devices, made a bolt for the stable along the 
Quai d’Orsay; but as he turned into the Rue de Université, 
Joséphin appeared to stop the runaway. 

“You cannot go home, sir,” the old man said, with a scared 
face; “they have come with a warrant to arrest you.” 

Victurnien thought that he had been arrested on the 
criminal charge, albeit there had not been time for the 
public prosecutor to receive his instructions. He had for- 
gotten the matter of the bills of exchange, which had been 
stirred up again for some days past in the form of orders to 
pay, brought by the officers of the court with accompaniments 
in the shape of bailiffs, men in possession, magistrates, com- 
missaries, policemen, and other representatives of social order. 
Like most guilty creatures, Victurnien had forgotten every- 
thing but his crime. 

“It is all over with me,” he cried. 

“No, M. le Comte, drive as fast as you can to the Hotel 
du Bon la Fontaine, in the Rue de Grenelle. Mlle. Armande 
is waiting there for you, the horses have been put in, she will 
take you with her.” 

Victurnien, in his trouble, caught like a drowning man at 
the branch that came to his hand; he rushed off to the inn, 
reached the place, and flung his arms about his aunt. Mule. 


238 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


Armande cried as if her heart would break; any one might | 
have thought that she had a share in her nephew’s guilt. 
They stepped into the carriage. A few minutes later they 
were on the road to Brest, and Paris lay behind them. Vic- 
turnien uttered not a sound; he was paralyzed. And when 
aunt and nephew began to speak, they talked at cross pur- 
poses; Victurnien, still laboring under the unlucky misap- 
prehension which flung him into Mlle. Armande’s arms, was 
thinking of his forgery; his aunt had the debts and the bills 
on her mind. 

“You know all, aunt,’ he had said. 

“Poor boy, yes, but we are here. I am not going to scold 
you just yet. Take heart.” 

“Tf must hide somewhere.” 

"Perhaps. (}2))))))".) Yes, 1t'1s aivery good idea.” 

“Perhaps I might get into Chesnel’s house without being 
seen if we timed ourselves to arrive in the middle of the 
night ?” 

“That will be best. We shall be better able to hide this 
from my brother.—Poor angel! how unhappy he is!” said 
she, petting the unworthy child. 

“Ah! now I begin to know what dishonor means; it has 
chilled my love.” 

“Unhappy boy; what bliss and what misery!” And Mlle. 
Armande drew his fevered face to her breast and kissed his 
forehead, cold and damp though it was, as the holy women 
might have kissed the brow of the dead Christ when they laid 
Him in His grave clothes. Following out the excellent 
scheme suggested by the prodigal son, he was brought by 
night to the quiet house in the Rue du Bercail; but chance 
ordered it that by so doing he ran straight into the wolf’s 
jaws, as the saying goes. That evening Chesnel had been 
making arrangements to sell his connection to M. Lepres- 
soir’s head-clerk. M. Lepressoir was the notary employed by 
the Liberals, just as Chesnel’s practice lay among the aristo- 
cratic families. The young fellow’s relatives were rich 
enough to pay Chesnel the considerable sum of a hundred 
thousand francs in cash. 


< 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 239 


Chesnel was rubbing his hands. “A hundred thousand 
francs will go a long way in buying up debts,” he thought. 
“The young man is paying a high rate of interest on his 
loans. We will lock him up down here. I will go yonder 
myself and bring those curs to terms.” 

Chesnel, honest Chesnel, upright, worthy Chesnel, called 
his darling Comte Victurnien’s creditors “curs.” 

Meanwhile his successor was making his way along the Rue 
du Bercail just as Mlle. Armande’s traveling carriage turned 
into it. Any young man might be expected to feel some 
curiosity if he saw a traveling carriage stop at a notary’s door 
in such a town and at such an hour of the night; the young 
man in question was sufficiently inquisitive to stand in a 
doorway and watch. He saw Mlle. Armande alight. 

“Mille. Armande d’Esgrignon at this time of night!” said 
he to himself. ‘What can be going forward at the d@’ Esgri- 
gnons’ ?” 

At the sight of mademoiselle, Chesnel opened the door 
circumspectly and set down the light which he was carrying ; 
but when he looked out and saw Victurnien, Mlle. Armande’s 
first whispered word made the whole thing plain to him. He 
looked up and down the street; it seemed quite deserted; he 
beckoned, and the young Count sprang out of the carriage 
and entered the courtyard. All was lost. Chesnel’s suc- 
cessor had discovered Victurnien’s hiding-place. 

Victurnien was hurried into the house and installed in a 
room beyond Chesnel’s private office. No one could enter it 
except across the old man’s dead body. 

“Ah! M. le Comte!” exclaimed Chesnel, notary no longer. 

“Yes, monsieur,” the Count answered, understanding his 
old friend’s exclamation. “I did not listen to you; and now 
I have fallen into the depths, and I must perish.” 

“No, no,” the good man answered, looking triumphantly 
from Mlle. Armande to the Count. “I have sold my connec- 
tion. I have been working for a very long time now, and am 
thinking of retiring. By noon to-morrow I shall have a 
hundred thousand frances; many things can be settled with 


240 THE JEALOUSIHS OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


that. Mademoiselle, you are tired,’ he added; “go back to 


the carriage and go home and sleep. Business to-mor- 
row.” 

“Ts he safe?” returned she, looking at Victurnien. 

Sy eg it 
_ She kissed her nephew; a few tears fell on his forehead. 
Then she went. 

“My good Chesnel,” said the Count, when they began to 
talk of business, “what are your hundred thousand francs in 
such a position as mine? You do not know the full extent of 
my troubles, I think.” 

Victurnien explained the situation. Chesnel was thunder- 
struck. But for the strength of his devotion, he would have 
succumbed to this blow. Tears streamed from the eyes that 
might well have had no tears left to shed. For a few 
moments he was a child again, for a few moments he was 
bereft of his senses; he stood like a man who should find his 
own house on fire, and through a window see the cradle ablaze 
and hear the hiss of the flames on his children’s curls. He 
rose to his full height—7z/ se dressa en med, as Amyot would 
have said; he seemed to grow taller; he raised his withered 
hands and wrung them despairingly and wildly. 

“Tf only your father may die and never know this, young 
man! ‘To be a forger is enough; a parricide you must not 
be. Fly, you say? No. They would condemn you for con- 
tempt of court! Oh, wretched boy! Why did you not 
forge my signature? J would have paid; I should not have 
taken the bill to the public prosecutor—Now I can do noth- 
ing. You have brought me to a stand in the lowest pit in 
hell! Du Croisier! What will come of it? What is to be 
done ?—If you had killed a man, there might be some help for 
it. But forgery—forgery! And time—the time is flying,” 
he went on, shaking his fist towards the old clock. “You 
will want a sham passport now. One crime leads to another. 
First,” he added, after a pause, “first of all we must save 
the house of d’Esgrignon.” 

“But the money is still in Mme. de Maufrigneuse’s keep- 
ing,” exclaimed Victurnien. 





THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 241 


“Ah!” exclaimed Chesnel. “Well, there is some hope left 
—a faint hope. Could we soften du Croisier, I wonder, or buy 
him over? He shall have all the lands if he likes. I will 
go to him; I will wake him and offer him all we have.—Be- 
sides, it was not you who forged that bill; it was I. I will 
go to jail; I am too old for the hulks, they can only put me 
in prison.” 

“But the body of the bill is in my handwriting,” objected 
Victurnien, without a sign of surprise at this reckless 
devotion. 

“Idiot! . . . that is, pardon, M. le Comte. Joséphin 
should have been made to write it,” the old notary cried 
wrathfully. “He is a good creature; he would have taken it 
all on his shoulders. But there is an end of it; the world is 
falling to pieces,” the old man continued, sinking exhausted 
into achair. “Du Croisier is a tiger; we must be careful not 
to rouse him. What time isit? Where is the draft? If it 
is at Paris, it might be bought back from the Kellers; they 
might accommodate us. Ah! but there are dangers on all 
sides; a single false step means ruin. Money is wanted in 
any case. But, there! nobody knows you are here, you must 
live buried away in the cellar if needs must. I will go at 
once to Paris as fast as I can; I can hear the mail coach 
from Brest.” 

In a moment the old man recovered the faculties of his 
youth—his agility and vigor. He packed up clothes for the 
journey, took money, brought a six-pound loaf to the little 
room beyond the office, and turned the key on his child by 
adoption. 

“Not a sound in here,” he said, “no light at night; and 
stop here till I come back, or you will go to the hulks. Do 
you understand, M. le Comte? Yes, to the hulks! if any- 
body in a town like this knows that you are here.” 

With that Chesnel went out, first telling his housekeeper 
to give out that he was ill, to allow no one to come into the 
house, to send everybody away, and to postpone business of 
every kind for three days. He wheedled the manager of 


242 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


the coach-office, made up a tale for his benefit—he had the 
makings of an ingenious novelist in him—and obtained a 
promise that if there should be a place, he should have it, pass- 
port or no passport, as well as a further promise to keep the 
hurried departure a secret. Luckily, the coach was empty 
when it arrived. 

In the middle of the following night Chesnel was set down 
in Paris. At nine o’clock in the morning he waited on the 
Kellers, and learned that the fatal draft had returned to du 
Croisier three days since; but while obtaining this informa- 
tion, he in no way committed himself. Before he went away 
he inquired whether the draft could be recovered if the 
amount were refunded. Francois Keller’s answer was to the 
effect that the document was du Croisier’s property, and that 
it was entirely in his power to keep or return it. Then, in 
desperation, the old man went to the Duchess. 

Mme. de Maufrigneuse was not at home to any visitor at 
that hour. Chesnel, feeling that every moment was precious, 
sat down in the hall, wrote a few lines, and succeeded in 
sending them to the lady by dint of wheedling, fascinating, 
bribing, and commanding the most insolent and inaccessible 
servants in the world. 'The Duchess was still in bed; but, to 
the great astonishment of her household, the old man in 
black knee-breeches, ribbed stockings, and shoes with buckles 
to them, was shown into her room. 

“What is it, monsieur?” she asked, posing in her dis- 
order. “What does he want of me, ungrateful that he is?” 

“It is this, Mme. la Duchesse,” the good man exclaimed, 
“you have a hundred thousand crowns belonging to us.” 

“Yes,” began she. “What does it signify rei 

“The money was gained by a forgery, for which we are 
going to the hulks, a forgery which we committed for 
love of you,’ Chesnel said quickly. “How is it that you did 
not guess it, so clever as you are? Instead of scolding the 
boy, you ought to have had the truth out of him, and stopped 
him while there was time, and saved him.” 

At the first words the Duchess understood ; she felt ashamed 











THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 243 


of her behavior to so impassioned a lover, and afraid besides 
that she might be suspected of complicity. In her wish to 
prove that she had not touched the money left in her keeping, 
she lost all regard for appearances; and besides, it did not 
occur to her that a notary was a man. She flung off the 
eider-down quilt, sprang to her desk (flitting past the lawyer 
hike an angel out of one the vignettes which illustrate Lamar- 
tine’s books), held out the notes, and went back in confusion 
to bed. 

“You are an angel, madame.” (She was to be an angel for 
all the world, it seemed.) “But this will not be the end of it. 
I count upon your influence to save us.” 

“To save you! I will do it or die! Love that will not 
shrink from a crime must be love indeed. Is there a woman in 
the world for whom such a thing has been done? Poor boy! 
Come, do not lose time, dear M. Chesnel; and count upon me 
as upon yourself.” 

“Mme. la Duchesse! Mme. la Duchesse!” It was all that 
he could say, so overcome was he. He cried, he could have 
danced; but he was afaid of losing his senses, and re- 
frained. 

“Between us, we will save him,” she said, as he left 
the room. 

Chesnel went straight to Joséphin. Joséphin unlocked the 
young Count’s desk and writing-table. Very luckily, the notary 
found letters which might be useful, letters from du Croisier 
and the Kellers. Then he took a place in a diligence which 
was just about to start; and by dint of fees to the postilions, 
the lumbering vehicle went as quickly as the coach. His two 
fellow-passengers on the journey happened to be in as great a 
hurry as himself, and readily agreed to take their meals 
in the carriage. Thus swept over the road, the notary 
reached the Rue du Bercail, after three days of absence, an 
hour before midnight. And yet he was too late. He saw 
the gendarmes at the gate, crossed the threshold, and met the 
young Count in the courtyard. Victurnien had been ar- 
rested. If Chesnel had had the power, he would beyond a 


244 THE JEALOUSIENS OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


doubt have killed the officers and men; as it was, he could only 
fall on Victurnien’s neck. 


“Tf I cannot hush this matter up, you must kill yourself 


before the indictment is made out,” he whispered: But Vic- 
turnien had sunk into such stupor, that he stared back un- 
comprehendingly. 

“Kill myself?” he repeated. 

“Yes. If your courage should fail, my boy, count upon 
me,” said Chesnel, squeezing Victurnien’s hand. 

In spite of his anguish of mind and tottering limbs, he 
stood firmly planted, to watch the son of his heart, the Comte 
d’Esgrignon, go out of the courtyard between two gendarmes, 
with the commissary, the justice of the peace, and the clerk 
of the court; and not until the figures had disappeared, and 
the sound of footsteps had died away into silence, did he re- 
cover his firmness and presence of mind. 

“You will catch cold, sir,’ Brigitte remonstrated. 

“The devil take you!” cried her exasperated master. 

Never in the nine-and-twenty years that Brigitte had been 
in his service had she heard such words from him! Her 
candle fell out of her hands, but Chesnel neither heeded his 
housekeeper’s alarm nor heard her exclaim. He hurried off 
towards the Val-Noble. 

“He is out of his mind,” said she; “after all, it is no won- 
der. But where is he off to? I cannot possibly go after 
him. What will become of him? Suppose that he should 
drown himself?” 

And Brigitte went to waken the head-clerk and send him to 
look along the river bank; the river had a gloomy reputation 
just then, for there had lately been two cases of suicide 
—one a young man full of promise, and the other a girl, a 
victim of seduction. Chesnel went straight to the Hétel du 
Croisier. There lay his only hope. The law requires that 
a charge of forgery must be brought by a private individual. 
It was still possible to withdraw if du Croisier chose to admit 
that there had been a misapprehension; and Chesnel had 
hopes, even then, of buying the man over. 





THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN . 245 


M. and Mme. du Croisier had much more company than 
usual that evening. Only a few persons were in the secret. 
M. du Ronceret, president of the Tribunal; M. Sauvager, 
deputy Public Prosecutor; and M. du Coudrai, a registrar of 
mortgages, who had lost his post by voting on the wrong 
side, were the only persons who were supposed to know about 
it; but Mesdames du Ronceret and du Coudrai had told the 
news, in strict confidence, to one or two intimate friends, so 
that it had spread half over the semi-noble, semi-bourgeois 
assembly at M. du Croisier’s. Everybody felt the gravity of 
the situation, but no one ventured to speak of it openly; and, 
moreover, Mme. du Croisier’s attachment to the upper sphere 
was so well known, that people scarcely dared to mention the 
disaster which had befallen the d’Esgrignons or to ask for 
particulars. The persons most interested were waiting till 
good Mme. du Croisier retired, for that lady always re- 
treated to her room at the same hour to perform her religious 
exercises as far as possible out of her husband’s sight. 

Du Croisier’s adherents, knowing the secret and the plans 
of the great commercial power, looked round when the lady of 
the house disappeared; but there were still several persons 
present whose opinions or interests marked them out as un- 
trustworthy, so they continued to play. About half past 
eleven all had gone save intimates: M. Sauvager, M. Camusot, 
the examining magistrate, and his wife, M. and Mme. du Ron- 
_ceret and their son Fabien, M. and Mme. du Coudrai, and 
Joseph Blondet, the eldest son of an old judge; ten persons in 
all. 

It is told of Talleyrand that one fatal day, three hours 
after midnight, he suddenly interrupted a game of cards in 
the Duchesse de Luynes’ house by laying down his watch on 
the table and asking the players whether the Prince de Condé 
had any child but the Duc d’Enghien. 

“Why do you ask?” returned Mme. de Luynes, “when you 
know so well that he has not.” 

“Because if the Prince has no other son, the House of 
Condé is now at an end.” 

There was a moment’s pause, and they finished the game. 


246 | THE JEALOUSIEBS OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


—President du Ronceret now did something very similar. 
Perhaps he had heard the anecdote; perhaps, in political life, - 
little minds and great minds are apt to hit upon the same 
expression. He looked at his watch, and interrupted the 
game of boston with: 

“At this moment M. le Comte d’Esgrignon is arrested, and 
that house which has held its head so high is dishonored for- 
ever.” 

“Then, have you got hold of the boy?” du Coudrai cried 
gleefully. 

Every one in the room, with the exception of the President, 
the deputy, and du Croisier, looked startled. 

“He has just been arrested in Chesnel’s house, where he 
was hiding,” said the deputy public prosecutor, with the air 
of a capable but unappreciated public servant, who ought by 
rights to be Minister of Police. M. Sauvager, the deputy, 
was a thin, tall young man of five-and-twenty, with a lengthy 
olive-hued countenance, black frizzled hair, and deep-set eyes ; 
the wide, dark rings beneath them were completed by the 
wrinkled purple eyelids above. With a nose like the beak of 
some bird of prey, a pinched mouth, and cheeks worn lean 
with study and hollowed by ambition, he was the very type 
of a second-rate personage on the lookout for something to 
turn up, and ready to do anything if so he might get on in the 
world, while keeping within the limitations of the possible 
and the forms of law. His pompous expression was an ad- 
mirable indication of the time-serving eloquence to be ex- 
pected of him. Chesnel’s successor had discovered the young 
Count’s hiding place to him, and he took great credit to him- 
self for his penetration. 

The news seemed to come as a shock to the examining 
magistrate, M. Camusot, who had granted the warrant of ar- 
rest on Sauvager’s application, with no idea that it was to be 
executed so promptly. Camusot was short, fair, and fat al- 
ready, though he was only thirty years old or thereabouts; 
he had the flabby, livid look peculiar to officials who 
live shut up in their private study or in a court of justice; 





THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 247 


and his little, pale, yellow eyes were full of the suspicion 
which is often mistaken for shrewdness. 

Mme. Camusot looked at her spouse, as who should say, 
“Was I not right ?” 

“Then the case will come on,” was Camusot’s comment. 

“Could you doubt it?” asked du Coudrai. “Now they 
have got the Count, all is over.” 

“There is the jury,” said Camusot. “In this case M. le 
Préfet is sure to take care that after the challenges from 
the prosecution and the defence, the jury to a man will be for 
an acquittal—My advice would be to come to a compromise,” 
he added, turning to du Croisier. 

“Compromise !” echoed the President; “why, he is in the 
hands of justice.” 

“Acquitted or convicted, the Comte d’Esgrignon will be 
dishonored all the same,’ put in Sauvager. 

“T am bringing an action,’* said du Croisier. “I shall 
have Dupin senior. We shall see how the d’Hsgrignon family 
will escape out of his clutches.” 

“The d’Esgrignons will defend the case and have counsel 
from Paris; they will have Berryer,” said Mme. Camusot. 
“You will have a Roland for your Oliver.” 

Du Croisier, M. Sauvager, and the President du Ronceret 
looked at Camusot, and one thought troubled their minds. 
The lady’s tone, the way in which she flung her proverb in 
the faces of the eight conspirators against the house of 
d’Esgrignon, caused them inward perturbation, which they 
dissembled as provincials can dissemble, by dint of lifelong 
practice in the shifts of a monastic existence. Little Mme. 
Camusot saw their change of countenance and subsequent 
composure when they scented opposition on the part of the 
examining magistrate. When her husband unveiled the 
thoughts in the back of his own mind, she had tried to plumb 
the depths of hate in du Croisier’s adherents. She wanted 
to find out how du Croisier had gained over this deputy public 


* A trial for an offence of this kind in France is an action brought by a private 
person (partie civile) to recover damages, and at the same time a ‘criminal prosecu- 
tion conducted on behalf of the Government.—TR. 


248 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


prosecutor, who had acted so promptly and so directly in 
opposition to the views of the central power. 

“Tn any case,” continued she, “if celebrated counsel come 
down from Paris, there is a prospect of a very interesting 
session in the Court of Assize; but the matter will be snuffed 
out between the Tribunal and the Court of Appeal. It is 
only to be expected that the Government should do all that 
can be done, below the surface, to save a young man who 
comes of a great family, and has the Duchesse de Maufri- 
gneuse for friend. So I think that we shall have a ‘sen- 
sation at Landernau.’ ” 

“How you go on, madame!” the President said sternly. 
“Can you suppose that the Court of First Instance will be 
influenced by considerations which have nothing to do with 
justice ?” 

“The event proves the contrary,” she said meaningly, look- 
ing full at Sauvager and the President, who glanced coldly at 
her. 

“Explain yourself, madame,” said Sauvager. ‘You speak 
as if we had not done our duty.” 

“Mme. Camusot meant nothing,” interposed her husband. 

“But has not M. le Président just said something prejudic- 
ing a case which depends on the examination of the prisoner ?” 
said she. “And the evidence is still to be taken, and the 
Court has not given its decision ?” 

“We are not at the law-courts,” the deputy public prosecu- 
tor replied tartly ; “and besides, we know all that.” 

“But the public prosecutor knows nothing at all about it 
yet,” returned she, with an ironical glance. “He will come 
back from the Chamber of Deputies in all haste. You have 
cut out his work for him, and he, no doubt, will speak for him- 
self.” 

The deputy prosecutor knitted his thick bushy brows. 
Those interested read tardy scruples in his countenance. A 
great silence followed, broken by no sound but the dealing of 
the cards. M. and Mme. Camusot, sensible of a decided chill 
in the atmosphere, took their departure to leave the conspira- 
tors to talk at their ease. 





THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 249 


“Camusot,” the lady began in the street, “you went too 
far. Why lead those people to suspect that you will have no 
part in their schemes? ‘They will play you some ugly 
trick.” 

“What can they do? I am the only examining magis- 
trate.” 

“Cannot they slander you in whispers, and procure your 
dismissal ?” 

At that very moment Chesnel ran up against the couple. 
The old notary recognized the examining magistrate; and 
with the lucidity which comes of an experience of business, he 
saw that the fate of the d’Esgrignons lay in the hands of 
the young man before him. 

“Ah, sir!” he exclaimed, “we shall soon need you badly. 
Just a word with you.—Your pardon, madame,” he added, 
as he drew Camusot aside. 

Mme. Camusot, as a good conspirator, looked towards du 
Croisier’s house, ready to break up the conversation if any- 
body appeared; but she thought, and thought rightly, that 
their enemies were busy discussing this unexpected turn which 
she had given to the affair. Chesnel meanwhile drew the 
magistrate into a dark corner under the wall, and lowered his 
voice for his companion’s ear. 

“Tf you are for the house of d’Esgrignon, ” he said, “Mme. 
la Duchesse de Maufrigneuse, the Prince de Cadignan, the 
Ducs de Navarreins and de Lenoncourt, the Keeper of the 
Seals, the Chancellor, the King himself, will interest them- 
selves in you. I have just come from Paris; I knew all about 
this; I went post-haste to explain everything at Court. We 
are counting on you, and I will keep your secret. If you are 
hostile, I shall go back to Paris to-morrow and lodge a com- 
plaint with the Keeper of the Seals that there is a suspicion 
of corruption. Several functionaries were at du Croisier’s 
house to-night, and no doubt, ate and drank there, contrary 
to law; and besides, they are friends of his.” 

Chesnel would have brought the Almighty to intervene if 
he had had the power. He did not wait for an answer; he left 


250 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


Camusot and fled like a deer towards du Croisier’s house, 
Camusot, meanwhile, bidden to reveal the notary’s con: 
fidences, was at once assailed with, “Was I not right, dear?” 
—a, wifely formula used on all occasions, but rather more 
vehemently when the fair speaker is in the wrong. By the 
time they reached home, Camusot had admitted the 
superiority of his partner in life, and appreciated his good 
fortune in belonging to her; which confession, doubtless, was 
the prelude of a blissful night. 

Chesnel met his foes in a body as they left du Croisier’s 
house, and began to fear that du Croisier had gone to bed. 
In his position he was compelled to act quickly, and any de- 
lay was a misfortune. 

“In the King’s name!” he cried, as the man-servant was 
closing the hall door. He had just brought the King on the 
scene for the benefit of an ambitious little official, and the 
word was still on his lips. He fretted and chafed while the 
door was unbarred; then, swift as a thunderbolt, dashed into 
the ante-chamber, and spoke to the servant 

“A hundred crowns to you, young man, if you can wake 
Mme. du Croisier and send her to me this instant. Tell her 
anything you like.” 

Chesnel grew cool and composed as he opened the door 
of the brightly hghted drawing-room, where du Croisier was 
striding up and down. Tor a moment the two men scanned 
each other, with hatred and enmity, twenty years’ deep, in 
their eves. One of the two had his foot on the heart of the 
house of d’Esgrignon; the other, with a lion’s strength, came 
forward to pluck it away. 

“Your humble servant, sir,’ said Chesnel. “Have you 
made the ee Ot | 

“Yes, sir.’ 

<When was it made?” 

“Yesterday.” 

“Have any steps been taken since the warrant of arrest was 
issued ?” 

“T believe so.” 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 251 


“T have come to treat with you.” 

“Justice must take its course, nothing can stop it, the ar- 
rest has been made.” 

“Never mind that, I am at your orders, at your feet.” The 
old man knelt before du Croisier, and stretched out his hands 
entreatingly. 

“What do you want? Our lands, our castle? Take all; 
withdraw the charge; leave us nothing but life and honor. 
And over and besides ali this, I will be your servant; com- 
mand and I will obey.” 

Du Croisier sat down in an easy-chair and left the old man 
to kneel. 

“You are not vindictive,” pleaded Chesnel; “you are good- 
hearted, you do not bear us such a grudge that you will not 
listen to terms. Before daylight the young man ought to be 
at liberty.” 

“The whole town knows that he has been arrested,” re- 
turned du Croisier, enjoying his revenge. 

“It is a great misfortune, but as there will neither be proofs 
nor trial, we can easily manage that.” 

Du Croisier reflected. He seemed to be struggling with 
self-interest ; Chesnel thought that he had gained a hold on 
his enemy through the great motive of human action. At 
that supreme moment Mme. du Croisier appeared. 

“Come here and help me to soften your dear husband, 
madame?” said Chesnel, still on his knees. Mme. du Croisier 
made him rise with every sign of profound astonishment. 
Chesnel explained his errand; and when she knew it, the 
generous daughter of the intendants of the Ducs de Alengon 
turned to du Croisier with tears in her eyes. 

“Ah! monsieur, can you hesitate? The d’Esgrignons, the 
honor of the province!” she said. 

“There is more in it than that,” exclaimed du Croisier, ris- 
ing to begin his restless walk again. 

“More? What more?” asked Chesnel in amazement. 

“France is involved, M. Chesnel! It is a question of the 
country, of the people, of giving my lords your nobles a 


252 THE JEALOUSINS OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


lesson, and teaching them that there is such a thing as justice, 
and law, and a bourgeoisie—a lesser nobility as good as they, 
and a match for them! There shall be no more trampling 
down half a score of wheat fields for a single hare; no bring- 
ing shame on families by seducing unprotected girls; they 
shall not look down on others as good as they are, and mock 
at them for ten whole years, without finding out at last that 
these things swell into avalanches, and those avalanches will 
fall and crush and bury my lords the nobles. You want to 
go back to the old order of things. You want to tear up the 
social compact, the Charter in which our rights are set 
forth. “ 

“And so?” 

“Ts it not a sacred mission to open the people’s eyes?” cried 
du Croisier. “Their eyes will be opened to the morality of 
your party when they see nobles going to be tried at the As- 
size Court like Pierre and Jacques. They will say, then, that 
small folk who keep their self-respect are as good as great 
folk that bring shame on themselves. The Assize Court is a 
light for all the world. Here, | am the champion of the 
people, the friend of law. You yourselves twice flung me on 
the side of the people—once when you refused an alliance, 
twice when you put me under the ban of your society. You 
are reaping as you have sown.” 

If Chesnel was startled by this outburst, so no less was 
Mme. du Croisier. To her this was a terrible revelation of 
her husband’s character, a new light not merely on the past 
but on the future as well. Any capitulation on the part of 
the colossus was apparently out of the question; but Chesnel 
in no wise retreated before the impossible. 

“What, monsieur?” said Mme. du Croisier. “Would you 
not forgive? Then you are not a Christian.” 

“T forgive as God forgives, madame, on certain condi- 
tions.” 

“And what are they?” asked Chesnel, thinking that he saw 
a ray of hope. 

“The elections are coming on; I want the votes at your dis- 


posal.” 





THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 253 


“You shall have them.” 

“I wish that we, my wife and I, should be received 
familiarly every evening, with an appearance of friendliness 
at any rate, my M. le Marquis d’Esgrignon and his circle,” 
continued du Croisier. 

“I do not know how we are going to compass it, but you 
shall be received.” 

“T wish to have the family bound over by a surety of four 
hundred thousand francs, and by a written document stating 
the nature of the compromise, so as to keep a loaded cannon 
pointed at its heart.” 

“We agree,” said Chesnel, without admitting that the three 
hundred thousand francs was in his possession; “but the 
amount must be deposited with a third party and returned 
to the family after your election and repayment.” 

“No; after the marriage of my grand-niece, Mlle. Duval. 
She will very likely have four million frances some day; the 
reversion of our property (mine and my wife’s) shall be 
settled upon her by her marriage-contract, and you shall ar- 
range a match between her and the young Count.” 

““Never !” 

“Never! repeated du Croisier, quite intoxicated with 
triumph. “Good-night!” 

“Tdiot that I am,” thought Chesnel, “why did I shrink from 
a lie to such a man?” 

Du Croisier took himself off; he was pleased with himself ; 
he had enjoyed Chesnel’s humiliation; he had held the 
destinies of a proud house, the representatives of the aristoc- 
racy of the province, suspended in his hand; he had set the 
print of his heel on the very heart of the d’Esgrignons; and, 
finally, he had broken off the whole negotiation on the score | 
of his wounded pride. He went up to his room, leaving his 
wife alone with Chesnel. In his intoxication, he saw his 
victory clear before him. He firmly believed that the three 
hundred thousand francs had been squandered; the d’Hsgri- 
gnons must sell or mortgage all that they had to raise the 
money ; the Assize Court was inevitable to his mind, 


254 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


An affair of forgery can always be settled out of cour, in 
France if the missing amount is returned. ‘The losers by 
the crime are usually well-to-do, and have no wish to blight 
an imprudent man’s character. But du Croisier had no 
mind to slacken his hold until he knew what he was about. 
He meditated until he fell asleep on the magnificent manner 
in which his hopes would be fulfilled by way of the Assize 
Court or by marriage. ‘he murmur of voices below, the 
lamentations of Chesnel and Mme. du Croisier, sounded 
sweet in his ears. 

Mme. du Croisier shared Chesnel’s views of the d’Esgri- 
gnons. She was a deeply religious woman, a Royalist at- 
tached to the noblesse; the interview had been in every way a 
cruel shock to her feelings. She, a staunch Royalist, had 
heard the roaring of that Liberalism, which, in her director’s 
opinion, wished to crush the Church. The Left benches for 
her meant the popular upheaval and the scaffolds of 1793. 

“What would your uncle, that sainted man who hears us, 
say to this?” exclaimed Chesnel. Mme. du Croisier made no 
reply, but the great tears rolled down her cheeks. 

“You have already been the cause of one poor boy’s death; 
hismother will go mourning all her days,” continued Chesnel ; 
he saw how his words told, but he would have struck harder 
and even broken this woman’s heart to save Victurnien. 
“Do you want to kill Mile. Armande, for she would not survive 
the dishonor of the house for a week? Do you wish to be the 
death of poor Chesnel, your old notary? For I shall kill the 
Count in prison before they shall bring the charge against 
him, and take my own life afterwards, before they shall try 
me for murder in an Assize Court.” 

“That is enough! that is enough, my friend! I would do 
anything to put a stop to such an affair; but I never knew 
M. du Croisier’s real character until a few minutes ago. To 
you I can make the admission: there is nothing to be done.” 

“But what if there is ?” 

“T would give half the blood in my veins that it were so,” 
said she, finishing her sentence by a wistful shake of the head. 


THH JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 255 


As the First Consul, beaten on the field of Marengo till 
five o’clock in the evening, by six o’clock saw the tide of battle 
turned by Desaix’s desperate attack and Kellermann’s terrific 
charge, so Chesnel in the midst of defeat saw the beginnings 
of victory. No one but a Chesnel, an old notary, an ex- 
steward of the manor, old Maitre Sorbier’s junior clerk, in 
the sudden flash of lucidity which comes with despair, could 
rise thus, high as a Napoleon, nay, higher. This was not 
Marengo, it was Waterloo, and the Prussians had come up; 
Chesnel saw this, and was determined to beat them off the 
field. 

“Madame,” he said, “remember that I have been your man 
of business for twenty years; remember that if the d’Esgri- 
gnons mean the honor of the province, you represent the 
honor of the bourgeoisie; it rests with you, and you alone, to 
save the ancient house. Now, answer me; are you going to 
allow dishonor to fall on the shade of your dead uncle, on the 
d’Esgrignons, on poor Chesnel? Do you want to kill Mlle. 
Armande weeping yonder? Or do you wish to expiate wrongs 
done to others by a deed which will rejoice your ancestors, 
the intendants of the dukes of Alencon, and bring comfort 
to the soul of our dear Abbé? If he could rise from his 
grave, he would command you to do this thing that I beg of 
you upon my knees.” 

“What is it?’ asked Mme. du Croisier. 

‘Well. Here are the hundred thousand crowns,” said 
Chesnel, drawing the bundles of notes from his pocket. “Take 
them, and there will be an end of it.” 

“Tf that is all,” she began, “and if no harm can come of it 
to my husban “ 

“Nothing but good,” Chesnel replied. “You are saving 
him from eternal punishment in hell, at the cost of a slight 
disappointment here below.” 

“He will not be compromised, will he?” she asked, looking 
into Chesnel’s face. 

Then Chesnel read the depths of the poor wife’s mind. 
Mme. du Croisier was hesitating between her two creeds ; be- 





256 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


tween wifely obedience to her husband as laid down by the 
Church, and obedience to the altar and the throne. Her. 
husband, in her eyes, was acting wrongly, but she dared not 
blame him; she would fain save the d’Esgrignons, but she 
was loyal to her husband’s interests. 

“Not in the least,’ Chesnel answered; “‘your old notary 
swears it by the Holy Gospels iM 

He had nothing left to lose for the d’Esgrignons but his 
soul; he risked it now by this horrible perjury, but Mme. 
du Croisier must be deceived, there was no other choice but 
death. Without losing a moment, he dictated a form of 
receipt by which Mme. du Croisier acknowledged payment of 
a hundred thousand crowns five days before the fatal letter 
of exchange appeared; for he recollected that du Croisier was 
away from home, superintending improvements on his wife’s 
property at the time. 

“Now swear to me that you will declare before the ex- 
amining magistrate that you received the money on that 
date,” he said, when Mme. du Croisier had taken the notes and 
he held the receipt in his hand. 

“Tt will be a lie, will it not?” 

“Venial sin,” said Chesnel. 

“I could not do it without consulting my director, M. 
Abbé Couturier.” 

“Very well,” said Chesnel, “will you be guided entirely by 
his advice in this affair?” 

“T promise that.” 

“And you must not give the money to M. du Croisier until 
you have been before the magistrate.” 

“No. Ah! God give me strength to appear in a Court of 
Justice and maintain a lie before men!” 

Chesnel kissed Mme. du Croisier’s hand, then stood up- 
right, and majestic as one of the prophets that Raphael paint- 
ed in the Vatican. 

“Your uncle’s soul is thrilled with joy,” he said; “you have 
wiped out for ever the wrong that you did by marrying an 
enemy of altar and throne”—-words that made a lively impres- 
sion on Mme. du Croisier’s timorous mind. 





THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 257 


Then Chesnel all at once bethought himself that he must 
make sure of the lady’s director, the Abbé Couturier. He 
knew how obstinately devout souls can work for the triumph 
of their views when once they come forward for their side, and 
wished to secure the concurrence of the Church as early as 
_ possible. So he went to the Hotel d’Esgrignon, roused up 
Mlle. Armande, gave her an account of that night’s work, and 
sped her to fetch the Bishop himself into the forefront of the 
battle. 

“Ah, Godin heaven! Thou must save the house of d’Esgri- 
enon!” he exclaimed, as he went slowly home again. “The 
affair is developing now into a fight in a Court of Law. We 
are face to face with men that have passions and interests 
of their own; we can get anything out of them. This du 
Croisier has taken advantage of the public prosecutor’s 
absence; the public prosecutor is devoted to us, but since the 
opening of the Chambers he has gone to Paris. Now, what 
can they have done to get round his deputy? They have in- 
duced him to take up the charge without consulting his chief. 
This mystery must be looked into, and the ground surveyed 
to-morrow; and then, perhaps, when I have unraveled this 
web of theirs, I will go back to Paris to set great powers at 
work through Mme. de Maufrigneuse.” 

So he reasoned, poor, aged, clear-sighted wrestler, before 
he lay down half dead with bearing the weight of so much 
emotion and fatigue. And yet, before he fell asleep he ran 
a searching eye over the list of magistrates, taking all their 
secret ambitions into account, casting about for ways of in- 
fluencing them, calculating his chances in the coming 
struggle. Chesnel’s prolonged scrutiny of consciences, given 
in a condensed form, will perhaps serve as a picture of the 
judicial world in a country town. 

Magistrates and officials generally are obliged to begin their 
career in the provinces; judicial ambition there ferments. 
At the outset every man looks towards Paris; they all aspire 
to shine in the vast theatre where great political causes come 
before the courts, and the higher branches of the legal pro- 


258 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


fession are closely connected with the palpitating interests of 
society. But few are called to that paradise of the man of 
law, and nine-tenths of the profession are bound sooner or 
later to regard themselves as shelved for good in the prov- 
inces. Wherefore, every Tribunal of First Instance and 
every Court-Royal is sharply divided in two. The first sec- 
tion has given up hope, and is either torpid or content; con- 
tent with the excessive respect paid to office in a country town, 
or torpid with tranquillity. The second section is made up of 
the younger sort, in whom the desire of success is untempered 
as yet by disappointment, and of the really clever men urged 
on continually by ambition as with a goad; and these two 
are possessed with a sort of fanatical belief in their order. 

At this time the younger men were full of Royalist zeal 
against the enemies of the Bourbons. The most insignificant | 
deputy official was dreaming of conducting a prosecution, and 
praying with all his might for one of those political cases 
which bring a man’s zeal into prominence, draw the attention 
of the higher powers, and mean advancement for King’s men. 
Was there a member of an official staff of prosecuting counsel 
who could hear of a Bonapartist conspiracy breaking out 
somewhere else without a feeling of envy? Where was the 
man that did not burn to discover a Caron, or a Berton, or a 
revolt of some sort? With reasons of State, and the ne- 
cessity of diffusing the monarchical spirit throughout France 
as their basis, and a fierce ambition stirred up whenever party 
spirit ran high, these ardent politicians on their promotion 
were lucid, clear-sighted, and perspicacious. They kept up a 
vigorous detective system throughout the kingdom; they did 
the work of spies, and urged the nation along a path of 
obedience, from which it had no business to swerve. 

Justice, thus informed with monarchical enthusiasm, 
atoned for the errors of the ancient parliaments, and walked, 
perhaps, too ostentatiously hand in hand with religion There 
was more zeal than discretion shown; but justice sinned not 
so much in the direction of machiavelism as by giving too 
candid expression to its views, when those views appeared to 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 259 


be opposed to the general interests of a country which must 
be put safely out of reach of revolutions. But taken as a 
whole, there was still too much of the bourgeois element in 
the administration ; it was too readily moved by petty Liberal 
agitation; and as a result, it was inevitable that it should in- 
cline sooner or later to the Constitutional party, and join 
ranks with the bourgeoisie in the day of battle. In the great 
body of legal functionaries, as in other departments of the 
administration, there was not wanting a certain hypocrisy, 
or rather that spirit of imitation which always leads France 
to model herself on the Court, and, quite unintentionally, to 
deceive the powers that be. 

Officials of both complexions were to be found in the court 
in which young d’Esgrignon’s fate depended. M. le Prési- 
dent du Ronceret and an elderly judge, Blondet by name, rep- 
resented the section of functionaries shelved for good, and 
resigned to stay where they were; while the young and 
ambitious party comprised the examining magistrate M. 
Camusot, and his deputy M. Michu, appointed through the 
interests of the Cing-Cygnes, and certain of promotion to the 
Court of Appeal of Paris at the first opportunity. 

President du Ronceret held a permanent post; it was im- 
possible to turn him out. The aristocratic party declined to 
give him what he considered to be his due, socially speaking ; 
so he declared for the bourgeoisie, glossed over his disappoint- 
ment with the name of independence, and failed to realize 
that his opinions condemned him to remain a president of 
a court of first instance for the rest of his life. 
Once started in this track the sequence of events led du Ron- 
ceret to place his hopes of advancement on the triumph of du 
Croisier and the Left. He was in no better odor at the Pre- 
fecture than at the Court-Royal. He was compelled to keep 
on good terms with the authorities; the Liberals distrusted 
him, consequently he belonged to neither party. He was 
obliged to resign his chances of election to du Croisier, he 
exercised no influence, and played a secondary part. The 
false position reacted on his character : he was soured and dis- 
contented ; he was tired of political ambiguity, and privately 


260 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


had made up his mind to come forward openly as leader of 
the Liberal party, and so to strike ahead of du Croisier. His 
behavior in the d’Esgrignon affair was the first step in this 
direction. ‘To begin with, he was an admirable representa- 
tive of that section of the middle classes which allows its petty 
passions to obscure the wider interests of the country; a class 
of crotchety politicians, upholding the government one day 
and opposing it the next, compromising every cause and help- 
ing none; helpless after they have done the mischief till they 
set about brewing more; unwilling to face their own incom- 
petence, thwarting authority while professing to serve it. 
With a compound of arrogance and humility they demand of 
the people more submission than kings expect, and fret their 
souls because those above them are not brought down to their 
level, as if greatness could be little, as if power existed with- 
out force. 

President du Ronceret was a tall, spare man with a receding 
forehead and scanty, auburn hair. He was wall-eyed, his 
complexion was blotched, his lips thin and hard, his scarcely 
audible voice came out like the husky wheezings of asthma. 
He had for a wife a great, solemn, clumsy creature, tricked 
out in the most ridiculous fashion, and outrageously over- 
dressed. Mme. la Présidente gave herself the airs of a queen; 
she wore vivid colors, and always appeared at balls adorned 
with the turban, dear to the British female, and lovingly 
cultivated in out-of-the-way districts in France. Each of the 
pair had an income of four or five thousand francs, which, 
with the President’s salary, reached a total of some twelve 
thousand. In spite of a decided tendency to parsimony, 
vanity required that they should receive one evening in the 
week. Du Croisier might import modern luxury into the 
town, M. and Mme. du Ronceret were faithful to the old tradi- 
tions. They had always lived in the old-fashioned house be- 
longing to Mme. du Ronceret, and had made no changes in it 
since their marriage. ‘The house stood between a garden and 
a courtyard. The gray old gable end, with one window in 
each story, gave upon the road. High walls enclosed the 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 261 


garden and the yard, but the space taken up beneath them in 
the garden by a walk shaded with chestnut trees was filled in 
the yard by a row of outbuildings. An old rust-devoured 
iron gate in the garden wall balanced the yard gateway, a 
huge, double-leaved carriage entrance with a buttress on either 
side, and a mighty shell on the top. The same shell was 
repeated over the house-door. 

The whole place was gloomy, close, and airless. The row 
of iron-grated openings in the opposite wall, as you entered, 
reminded you of prison windows. Every passer-by could look 
in through the railings to see how the garden grew; the 
flowers in the little square borders never seemed to thrive 
there. 

The drawing-room on the ground floor was lighted by a 
single window on the side of the street, and a French window 
above a flight of steps, which gave upon the garden. The 
dining-room on the other side of the great ante-chamber, with 
its windows also looking out into the garden, was exactly 
the same size as the drawing-room, and all three apartments 
were in harmony with the general air of gloom. It wearied 
your eyes to look at the ceilings all divided up by huge painted 
crossbeams and adorned with a feeble lozenge pattern or a 
rosette in the middle. The paint was old, startling in tint, 
and begrimed with smoke. The sun had faded the heavy 
silk curtains in the drawing-room; the old-fashioned Beauvais 
tapestry which covered the white-painted furniture had lost all 
its color with wear. A Louis Quinze clock on the chimney- 
piece stood between two extravagant, branched sconees filled 
with yellow wax candles, which the Présidente only lighted on 
occasions when the old-fashioned rock-crystal chandelier 
emerged from its green wrapper. Three card-tables, covered 
with threadbare baize, and a backgammon box, sufficed for the 
recreations of the company; and Mme. du Ronceret treated 
them to such refreshments as cider, chestnuts, pastry puffs, 
glasses of eau sucrée, and home-made orgeat. For some time 
past she had made a practice of giving a party once a fort- 
night, when tea and some pitiable attempts at pastry appeared 
to grace the occasion. 


262 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


Once a quarter the du Roncerets gave a grand three-course 
dinner, which made a great sensation in the town, a dinner © 
served up in execrable ware, but prepared with the science for 
which the provincial cook is remarkable. It was a Gargantuan 
repast, which lasted for six whole hours, and by abundance 
the President tried to vie with du Croisier’s elegance. 

And so du Ronceret’s life and its accessories were just what 
might have been expected from his character and his false 
position. He felt dissatisfied at home without precisely know- 
ing what was the matter; but he dared not go to any expense 
to change existing conditions, and was only too glad to put 
by seven or eight thousand francs every year, so as to leave 
his son Fabien a handsome private fortune. Fabien du Ron- 
ceret had no mind for the magistracy, the bar, or the civil 
service, and his pronounced turn for doing nothing drove his 
parent to despair. 

On this head there was rivalry between the President and 
the Vice-President, old M. Blondet. M. Blondet, for a long 
time past, had been sedulously cultivating an acquaintance be- 
tween his son and the Blandureau family. The Blandureaus 
were well-to-do linen manufacturers, with an only daughter, 
and it was on this daughter that the President had fixed his 
choice of a wife for Fabien. Now, Joseph Blondet’s marriage 
with Mile. Blandureau depended on his nomination to the 
post which his father, old Blondet, hoped to obtain for him 
when he himself should retire. But President du Ronceret, 
in underhand ways, was thwarting the old man’s plans, and 
working indirectly upon the Blandureaus. Indeed, if it had 
not been for this affair of young d’Esgrignon’s, the astute 
President might have cut them out, father and son, for their 
rivals were very much richer. 

M. Blondet, the victim of the machiavelian President’s 
intrigues, was one of the curious figures which lie buried away 
in the provinces like old coins in a crypt. He was at that 
time a man of sixty-seven or thereabouts, but he carried his 
years well; he was very tall, and in build reminded you of the 
canons of the good old times. The smallpox had riddled his 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 263 


face with numberless dints, and spoilt the shape of his nose by 
imparting to it a gimlet-like twist ; it was a countenance by no 
means lacking in character, very evenly tinted with a diffused 
red, lighted up by a pair of bright little eyes, with a sardonic 
look in them, while a certain sarcastic twitch of the purpled 
lips gave expression to that feature. 

Before the Revolution broke out, Blondet senior had been 
a barrister; afterwards he became the public accuser, and 
one of the mildest of those formidable functionaries. Good- 
man Blondet, as they used to call him, deadened the force of 
the new doctrines by acquiescing in them all, and putting 
none of them in practice. He had been obliged to send one 
or two nobles to prison; but his further proceedings were 
marked with such deliberation, that he brought them through 
to the 9th Thermidor with a dexterity which won respect for 
him on all sides. As a matter of fact, Goodman Blondet 
ought to have been President of the Tribunal, but when the 
courts of law were reorganized he had been set aside; 
Napoleon’s aversion for Republicans was apt to reappear 
in the smallest appointments under his government. The 
qualification of ex-public accuser, written in the margin of 
the list against Blondet’s name, set the Emperor inquiring of 
Cambacérés whether there might not be some scion of an 
ancient parliamentary stock to appoint instead. The con- 
sequence was that du Ronceret, whose father had been a 
councillor of parliament, was nominated to the presidency ; 
but, the Emperor’s repugnance notwithstanding, Cambacérés 
allowed Blondet to remain on the bench, saying that the old 
barrister was one of the best jurisconsults in France. 

Blondet’s talents, his knowledge of the old law of the land 
and subsequent legislation, should by rights have brought 
him far in his profession; but he had this much in common 
with some few great spirits: he entertained a prodigious con- 
tempt for his own special knowledge, and reserved all his 
pretentions, leisure, and capacity for a second pursuit un- 
connected with the law. To this pursuit he gave his almost 
exclusive attention. The good man was passionately fond of 


264 |. THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


gardening. He was in correspondence with some of the most. 
celebrated amateurs ; it was his ambition to create new species ; 
he took an interest in botanical discoveries, and lived, in short, 
in the world of flowers. Like all florists, he had a predilec- 
tion for one particular plant; the pelargonium was his especial 
favorite. The court, the cases that came before it, and his 
outward life were as nothing to him compared with 
the inward life of fancies and abundant emotions which the 
old man led. He fell more and more in love with his flower- 
seraglio; and the pains which he bestowed on his garden, the 
sweet round of the labors of the months, held Goodman Blon- 
det fast in his greenhouse. But for that hobby he would have 
been a deputy under the Empire, and shone conspicuous be- 
yond a doubt in the Corps Legislatif. 

His marriage was the second cause of his obscurity. As a 
man of forty, he was rash enough to marry a girl of eighteen, 
by whom he had a son named Joseph in the first year of their 
marriage. Three years afterwards Mme. Blondet, then the 
prettiest woman in the town, inspired in the prefect of the 
department a passion which ended only with her death. The 
prefect was the father of her second son Emile; the whole 
town knew this, old Blondet himself knew it. The wife who 
might have roused her husband’s ambition, who might have 
won him away from his flowers, positively encouraged the 
judge in his botanical tastes. She no more cared to leave the 
place than the prefect cared to leave his prefecture so long 
as his mistress lived. 

Blondet felt himself unequal at his age to a contest with 
a young wife. He sought consolation in his greenhouse, and 
engaged a very pretty servant-maid to assist him to tend his 
ever-changing bevy of beauties. So while the judge potted, 
pricked out, watered, layered, slipped, blended, and induced 
his flowers to break, Mme. Blondet spent his substance on the 
dress and finery in which she shone at the prefecture. One 
interest alone had power to draw her away from the tender 
care of a romantic affection which the town came to admire 
in the end; and this interest was Emile’s education. The 


THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 265 


child of love was a bright and pretty boy, while Joseph was no 
less heavy and plain-featured. The old judge, blinded by 
paternal affection, loved Joseph as his wife loved Kmile. 

For a dozen years M. Blondet bore his lot with perfect 
resignation. He shut his eyes to his wife’s intrigue with a 
dignified, well-bred composure, quite in the style of an 
eighteenth century grand seigneur; but, like all men with a 
taste for a quiet life, he could cherish a profound dislike, and 
he hated his younger son. When his wife died, therefore, in 
1818, he turned the intruder out of the house, and packed him 
off to Paris to study law on an allowance of twelve hundred 
franes for all resource, nor could any cry of distress extract, 
another penny from his purse. Emile Blondet would have 
gone under if it had not been for his real father. 

M. Blondet’s house was one of the prettiest in the town. 
It stood almost opposite the prefecture, with a neat little 
court in front. A row of old-fashioned iron railings between 
two brickwork piers enclosed it from the street; and a low 
wall, also of brick, with a second row of railings along the 
top, connected the piers with the neighboring house. The 
little court, a space about ten fathoms in width by twenty 
in length, was cut in two by a brick pathway which ran from 
the gate to the house door between a border on either side. 
Those borders were always renewed; at every season of the 
year they exhibited a successful show of blossom, to the 
admiration of the public. All along the back of the garden- 
beds a quantity of climbing plants grew up and covered the 
walls of the neighboring houses with a magnificent mantle; 
the brickwork piers were hidden in clusters of honeysuckle ; 
and, to crown all, in a couple of terra-cotta vases at the sum- 
mit, a pair of acclimatized cactuses displayed to the astonished 
eyes of the ignorant those thick leaves bristling with spiny 
defences which seem to be due to some plant disease. 

It was a plain-looking house, built of brick, with brick- 
work arches above the windows, and bright green Venetian 
shutters to make it gay. Through the glass door you could 
look straight across the house to the opposite glass door, at 


266 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


the end of a long passage, and down the central alley in the 
garden beyond; while through the windows of the dining- 
room and drawing-room, which extended, like the passage, 
from back to front of the house, you could often catch further 
glimpses of the flower-beds in a garden of about two acres in 
extent. Seen from the road, the brick-work harmonized with 
the fresh flowers and shrubs, for two centuries had overlaid it 
with mosses and green and russet tints. No one could pass 
through the town without falling in love with a house with 
such charming surroundings, so covered with flowers and 
mosses to the roof-ridge, where two pigeons of glazed crockery 
ware were perched by way of ornament. 

M. Blondet possessed an income of about four thousand 
livres derived from land, besides the old house in the town. 
He meant to avenge his wrongs legitimately enough. He 
would leave his house, his lands, his seat on the bench to his 
son Joseph, and the whole town knew what he meant to do. 
He had made a will in that son’s favor; he had gone as far 
-as the Code will permit a man to go in the way of disin- 
heriting one child to benefit another; and what was more, 
he had been putting by money for the past fifteen years to 
enable his lout of a son to buy back from Emile that portion 
of his father’s estate which could not legally be taken away 
from him. 

Emile Blondet thus turned adrift had contrived to gain 
distinction in Paris, but so far it was rather a name than a 
practical result. Hmile’s indolence, recklessness, and happy- 
go-lucky ways drove his real father to despair; and when 
that father died, a half-ruined man, turned out of office by one 
of the political reactions so frequent under the Restoration, 
it was with a mind uneasy as to the future of a man endowed 
with the most brillant qualities. 

Emile Blondet found support in a friendship with a Mlle. 
de Troisville, whom he had known before her marriage with 
the Comte de Montcornet. His mother was living when the 
Troisvilles came back after the emigration; she was related 
to the family, distantly it is true, but the connection was 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 267 


close enough to allow her to introduce Emile to the house.. 
She, poor woman, foresaw the future. She knew that when 
she died her son would lose both mother and father, a thought 
which made death doubly bitter, so she tried to interest others 
in him. She encouraged the liking that sprang up between 
Emile and the eldest daughter of the house of Troisville; but 
while the liking was exceedingly strong on the young lady’s 
part, a marriage was out of the question. It was a romance 
on the pattern of Paul et Virginie. Mme. Blondet did what 
she could to teach her son to look to the Troisvilles, to found 
a lasting attachment on a children’s game of “make-believe” 
love, which was bound to end as boy-and-girl romances usually 
do. When Mlle. de Troisville’s marriage with General Mont- 
cornet was announced, Mme. Blondet, a dying woman, went to 
the bride and solemnly implored her never to abandon Emile, 
and to use her influence for him in society in Paris, whither 
the General’s fortune summoned her to shine. 

Luckily for Emile, he was able to make his own way. He 
made his appearance, at the age of twenty, as one of the 
masters of modern literature ; and met with no less success in 
the society into which he was launched by the father who at 
first could afford to bear the expense of the young man’s ex- 
travagance. Perhaps Emile’s precocious celebrity and the 
good figure that he made strengthened the bonds of his friend- 
ship with the Countess. Perhaps Mme. de Montcornet, with 
the Russian blood in her veins (her mother was the daughter 
of the Princess Scherbelloff), might have cast off the friend of 
her childhood if he had been a poor man struggling with all 
his might among the difficulties which beset a man of letters 
in Paris; but by the time that the real strain of Emile’s ad- 
venturous life began, their attachment was unalterable on 
either side. He was looked upon as one of the leading lights 
of journalism when young d’Esgrignon met him at his first 
supper-party in Paris; his acknowledged position in the world 
of letters was very high, and he towered above his reputation. 
Goodman Blondet had not the faintest conception of the 
power which the Constitutional Government had given to the 


268 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


press; nobody ventured to talk in his presence of the son of 
whom he refused to hear. And so it came to pass that he knew 
nothing of Emile whom he had cursed and Emile’s great- 
ness. 

Old Blondet’s integrity was as deeply rooted in him as his 
passion for flowers; he knew nothing but law and botany. He 
would have interviews with litigants, listen to them, chat 
with them, and show them his flowers; he would accept 
rare seeds from them; but once on the bench, no judge 
on earth was more impartial. Indeed, his manner of 
proceeding was so well known, that litigants never went 
near him except to hand over some document which 
might enlighten him in the performance of his duty, 
and nobody tried to throw dust in his eyes. With his 
learning, his lights, and his way of holding his real talents 
cheap, he was so indispensable to President du Ronceret, that, 
matrimonial schemes apart, that functionary would have done 
all that he could, in an underhand way, to prevent the vice- 
president from retiring in favor of his son. If the learned 
old man left the bench, the President would be utterly unable 
to do without him. 

Goodman Blondet did not know that it was in Emile’s 
power to fulfil all his wishes in a few hours. The simplicity 
of his life was worthy of one of Plutarch’s men. In the even- 
ing he looked over his cases; next morning he worked among 
his flowers; and all day long he gave decisions on the bench. 
The pretty maid-servant, now of ripe age, and wrinkled like 
an Easter pippin, looked after the house, and they lived ac- 
cording to the established customs of the strictest parsimony. 
Mlle. Cadot always carried the keys of her cupboards and 
fruit-loft about with her. She was indefatigable. She went to 
market herself, she cooked and dusted and swept, and never 
missed mass of a morning. To give some idea of the domestic 
life of the household, it will be enough to remark that the 
father and son never ate fruit till it was beginning to spoil, 
because Mlle. Cadot always brought out anything that would 
not keep. No one in the house ever tasted the luxury of new 


THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 269 


bread, and all the fast days in the calendar were punctually 
observed. ‘The gardener was put on rations like a soldier; the 
elderly Valideh always kept an eye upon him. And she, for 
her part, was so deferentially treated, that she took her meals 
with the family, and in consequence was continually trotting 
to and fro between the kitchen and the parlor at breakfast 
and dinner time. 

Mile. Blandureau’s parents had consented to her marriage 
with Joseph Blondet upon one condition—the penniless and 
briefless barrister must be an assistant judge. So, with the 
desire of fitting his son to fill the position, old M. Blondet 
racked his brains to hammer the law into his son’s head by 
dint of lessons, so as to make a cut-and-dried lawyer of him. 
As for Blondet junior, he spent almost every evening at the 
Blandureaus’ house, to which also young Fabien du Ronceret 
had been admitted since his return, without raising the 
slightest suspicion in the minds of father or son. 

Everything in this hfe of theirs was measured with an ac- 
curacy worthy of Gerard Dow’s Money Changer ;not a grain of 
salt too much,not a single profit foregone ; but the economical 
principles by which it was regulated were relaxed in favor of 
the greenhouse and garden. “The garden was the master’s 
craze,’ Mlle. Cadot used to say The master’s blind fondness 
for Joseph was not a craze in her eyes; she shared the father’s 
predilection ; she pampered Joseph; she darned his stockings ; 
and would have been better pleased if the money spent on the 
garden had been put by for Joseph’s benefit. , 

That garden was kept in marvelous order by a single man; 
the paths, covered with river-sand, continually turned over 
with the rake, meandered among the borders full of the rarest 
flowers. Here were all kinds of color and scent, here were 
lizards on the walls, legions of little flower-pots standing out 
in the sun, regiments of forks and hoes, and a host of innocent 
things, a combination of pleasant results to justify the 
gardener’s charming hobby. 

At the end of the greenhouse the judge had set up a grand- 
stand, an amphitheatre of benches to hold some five or six 


270 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


thousand pelargoniums in pots—a splendid and famous show. 
People came to see his geraniums in flower, not only from 
the neighborhood, but even from the departments round 
about. The Empress Marie Louise, passing through the town, 
had honored the curiously kept greenhouse with a visit; so 
much was she impressed with the sight, that she spoke of it 
to Napoleon, and the old judge received the Cross of the 
Legion of Honor. But as the learned gardener never mingled 
in society at all, and went nowhere except to the Blandureaus, 
he had no suspicion of the President’s underhand manceuvres ; 
and others who could see the President’s intentions were far 
too much afraid of him to interfere or to warn the inoffensive 
Blondets. 

As for Michu, that young man with his powerful connec- 
tions gave much more thought to making himself agreeable 
to the women in the upper social circles to which he was in- 
troduced by the Cing-Cygnes, than to the extremely simple 
business of a provincial Tribunal. With his independent 
means (he had an income of twelve thousand livres), he was 
courted by mothers of daughters, and led a frivolous life. 
He did just enough at the Tribunal to satisfy his conscience, 
much as a schoolboy does his exercises, saying ditto on all 
occasions, with a “Yes, dear President.”” But underneath the 
appearance of indifference lurked the unusual powers of the 
Paris law student who had distinguished himself as one of 
the staff of prosecuting counsel before he came to the prov- 
inces. He was accustomed to taking broad views of things; 
he could do rapidly what the President and Blondet could 
only do after much thinking, and very often solved knotty 
points for them. In delicate conjunctures the President and 
Vice-President took counsel with their junior, confided thorny 
questions to him, and never failed to wonder at the readiness 
with which he brought back a task in which old Blondet found 
nothing to criticise. Michu was sure of the influence of the 
most crabbed aristocrats, and he was young and rich; he 
lived, therefore, above the level of departmental intrigues 
and pettinesses. He was an indispensable man at picnics, 


THR JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 271 


he frisked with young ladies and paid court to their mothers, 
he danced at balls, he gambled lke a capitalist. In short, 
he played his part of young lawyer of fashion to admiration ; 
without, at the same time, compromising his dignity, which 
he knew how to assert at the right moment like a man of 
spirit. He won golden opinions by the manner in which he 
threw himself into provincial ways, without criticising them ; 
and for these reasons, every one endeavored to make his time 
of exile endurable. 

The public prosecutor was a lawyer of the highest ability ; 
he had taken the plunge into political life, and was one of the 
most distinguished speakers on the ministerialist benches. 
The President stood in awe of him; if he had not been away 
in Paris at the time, no steps would have been taken against 
Victurnien; his dexterity, his experience of business, would 
have prevented the whole affair. At that moment, however, 
he was in the Chamber of Deputies, and the President and 
du Croisier had taken advantage of his absence to weave their 
plot, calculating, with a certain ingenuity, that if once the 
law stepped in, and the matter was noised abroad, things 
would have gone too far to be remedied. 

As a matter of fact, no staff of prosecuting counsel in any 
Tribunal, at that particular time, would have taken up a 
charge of forgery against the eldest son of one of the noblest 
houses in France without going into the case at great length, 
and a special reference, in all probability, to the Attorney- 
General. In such a case as this, the authorities and the 
Government would have tried endless ways of compromising 
and hushing up an affair which might send an imprudent 
young man to the hulks. They would very likely have done 
the same for a Liberal family in a prominent position, so long 
as the Liberals were not too openly hostile to the throne and 
the altar. So du Croisier’s charge and the young Count’s 
arrest had not been very easy to manage. The President and 
du Croisier had compassed their ends in the following man- 
ner. 

M. Sauvager, a young Royalist barrister, had reached the 


272 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


position of deputy public prosecutor by dint of subservience 


to the Ministry. In the absence of his chief he was head of 


the staff of counsel for prosecution, and, consequently, it fell 
to him to take up the charge made by du Croisier. Sauvager 
was a self-made man; he had nothing but his stipend; and 
for that reason the authorities reckoned upon some one who 
had everything to gain by devotion. The President now 
expoited the position. No sooner was the document with the 
alleged forgery in du Croisier’s hands, than Mme. la Prési- 
dente du Ronceret, prompted by her spouse, had a long con- 
versation with M. Sauvager. In the course of it she pointed 
out the uncertainties of a career in the magistrature debout 
compared with the magistrature assise, and the advantages of 
the bench over the bar; she showed how a freak on the part 
of some official, or a single false step, might ruin a man’s 
career. 

“Tf you are conscientious and give your conclusions against 
the powers that be, you are lost,” continued she. “Now, at 
this moment, you might turn your position to account to 
make a fine match that would put you above unlucky chances 
for the rest of your life; you may marry a wife with fortune 
sufficient to land you on the bench, in the magistrature assise. 
There is a fine chance for you. M. du Croisier will never 
have any children; everybody knows why. His money, and 
his wife’s as well, will go to his niece, Mlle. Duval. M. Duval 
is an ironmaster, his purse is tolerably filled, to begin with, 
and his father is still alive, and has a little property besides. 
The father and son have a million of francs between them; 
they will double it with du Croisier’s help, for du Croisier 
has business connections among great capitalists and 
manufacturers in Paris. M. and Mme. Duval the younger 
would be certain to give their daughter to a suitor brought 
forward by du Croisier, for he is sure to leave two fortunes 
to his niece; and, in all probability, he will settle the rever- 
sion of his wife’s property upon Mlle. Duval in the marriage- 
contract, for Mme. du Croisier has no kin. You know how 
du Croisier hates the d’Esgrignons. Do him a service, be his 


THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 273 


man, take up this charge of forgery which he is going to make 
against young d’Hsgrignon, and follow up the proceedings at 
once without consulting the public prosecutor at Paris. And, 
then, pray Heaven that the Ministry dismisses you for doing 
your office impartially, in spite of the powers that be; for if 
they do, your fortune is made! You will have a charming 
wife and thirty thousand francs a year with her, to say 
nothing of four millions of expectations in ten years’ time.” 

In two evenings Sauvager was talked over. Both he and 
the President kept the affair a secret from old Blondet, from 
Michu, and from the second member of the statf of prosecut- 
ing counsel. Feeling sure of Blondet’s impartiality on a 
question of fact, the President made certain of a majority 
withoutcounting Camusot. And now Camusot’s unexpected de- 
fection had thrown everything out. What the President 
wanted was a committal for trial before the public prosecutor 
got warning. How if Camusot or the second counsel for the 
- prosecution should send word to Paris? 

And here some portion of Camusot’s private history may 
perhaps explain how it came to pass that Chesnel took it for 
granted that the examining magistrate would be on the 
d’Hsgrignons’ side, and how he had the boldness to tamper in 
the open street with that representative of justice. 

Camusot’s father, a well-known silk mercer in the Rue des 
Bourdonnais, was ambitious for the only son of his first 
marriage, and brought him up to the law. When Camusot 
junior took a wife, he gained with her the influence of an 
usher of the Royal cabinet, backstairs influence, it is true, but 
still sufficient, since it had brought him his first appointment 
as justice of the peace, and the second as examining magis- 
trate. At the time of his marriage, his father only settled 
an income of six thousand francs upon him (the amount of his 
mother’s fortune, which he could legally claim), and as Mlle. 
Thirion brought him no more than twenty thousand francs 
as her portion, the young couple knew the hardships of hidden 
poverty. The salary of a provincial justice of the peace 
does not exceed fifteen hundred francs, while an examining 


274 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


magistrate’s stipend is augmented by something like a thou- 
sand francs, because his position entails expenses and extra 
work. The post, therefore, is much coveted, though it is not 
permanent, and the work is heavy, and that was why 
Mme. Camusot had just scolded her husband for allowing the 
President to read his thoughts. 

Marie Cécile Amélie Thirion, after three years of marriage, 
perceived the blessing of Heaven upon it in the regularity of 
two auspicious events—the births of a girl and a boy; but 
she prayed to be less blessed in future. A few more of 
such blessings would turn straitened means into distress. M. 
Camusot’s father’s money was not likely to come to them for a 
long time; and, rich as he was, he would scarcely leave more 
than eight or ten thousand francs a year to each of his 
children, four in number, for he had been married twice. | 
And besides, by the time that all “expectations,” as match- 
makers call them, were realized, would not the magistrate have 
children of his own to settle in life? Any one can imagine 
the situation for a little woman with plenty of sense and de- 
termination, and Mme. Camusot was such a woman. She did 
not refrain from meddling in matters judicial. She had far 
too strong a sense of the gravity of a false step in her hus- 
band’s career. 

She was the only child of an old servant of Louis XVIIL., 
a valet who had followed his master in his wanderings in 
Italy, Courland, and England, till after the Restoration the 
King rewarded him with the one place that he could fill at 
Court, and made him usher by rotation to the royal cabinet. 
So in Amélie’s home there had been, as it were, a sort of 
reflection of the Court. Thirion used to tell her about the 
lords, and ministers, and great men whom he announced and 
introduced and saw passing to and fro The girl, brought up 
at the gates of the Tuileries, had caught some tincture of the 
maxims practised there, and adopted the dogma of passive 
obedience to authority She had sagely judged that her hus- 
band, by ranging himself on the side of the d’Esgrignons, 
would find favor with Mme. la Duchesse de Maufrigneuse, 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 275 


and with two powerful families on whose influence with the 
King the Sieur Thirion could depend at an opportune 
moment. Camusot might get an appointment at the first op- 
portunity within the jurisdiction of Paris, and afterwards 
at Paris itself. That promotion, dreamed of and longed for 
at every moment, was certain to have a salary of six thousand 
francs attached to it, as well as the alleviation of living in her 
own father’s house, or under the Camusots’ roof, and all the 
advantages of a father’s fortune on either side. If the adage, 
“Out of sight is out of mind,” holds good of most women, it 
is particularly true where family feeling or royal or min- 
isterial patronage is concerned. The personal attendants of 
kings prosper at all times; you take an interest in a man, be it 
only a man in livery, if you see him every day. 

Mme. Camusot, regarding herself as a bird of passage, had 
taken a little house in the Rue du Cygne. Furnished 
lodgings there were none; the town was not enough of a 
thoroughfare, and the Camusots could not afford to live at 
an inn like M. Michu. So the fair Parisian had no choice for 
it but to take such furniture as she could find; and as she paid 
a very moderate rent, the house was remarkably ugly, albeit 
a certain quaintness of detail was not wanting. It was built 
against a neighboring house in such a fashion that the side, 
with only one window in each story, gave upon the street, and 
the front looked out upon a yard where rose-bushes and buck- 
horn were growing along the wall on either side. On the 
farther side, opposite the house, stood a shed, a roof over two 
brick arches. A little wicket-gate gave entrance into the 
gloomy place (made gloomier still by the great walnut-tree 
which grew in the yard), and a double flight of steps, with an 
elaborately-wrought but rust-eaten handrail, led to the house 
door. Inside the house there were two rooms on each floor. 
The dining-room occupied that part of the ground floor near- 
est the street, and the kitchen lay on the other side of a nar- 
row passage almost wholly taken up by the wooden staircase. 
Of the two first-floor rooms, one did duty as the magistrate’s 
study, the other as a bedroom, while the nursery and the 


276 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


servants’ bedroom stood above in the attics. There were no 
ceilings in the house; the cross-beams were simply white- 
washed and the spaces plastered over. Both rooms on the 
first floor and the dining-room below were wainscoted and 
adorned with the labyrinthine designs which taxed the 
patience of the eighteenth century joiner; but the carving 
had been painted a dingy gray most depressing to behold. 

The magistrate’s study looked as though it belonged to a 
provincial lawyer; it contained a big bureau, a mahogany 
armchair, a law student’s books, and shabby belongings trans- 
ported from Paris. Mme. Camusot’s room was more of a 
native product; it boasted a blue-and-white scheme of decora- 
tion, a carpet, and that anomalous kind of furniture which 
appears to be in the fashion, while it is simply some style that 
has failed in Paris. As to the dining-room, it was nothing 
but an ordinary provincial dining-room, bare and chilly, with 
a damp, faded paper on the walls. 

In this shabby room, with nothing to see but the walnut- 
tree, the dark leaves growing against the walls, and the almost 
deserted road beyond them, a somewhat lively and frivolous 
woman, accustomed to the amusements and stir of Paris, used 
to sit all day long, day after day, and for the most part of 
the time alone, though she received tiresome and inane visits 
which led her to think her loneliness preferable to empty 
tittle-tattle. If she permitted herself the slightest gleam of 
intelligence, it gave rise to interminable comment and em- 
bittered her condition. She occupied herself a great deal with 
her children, not so much from taste as for the sake of an in- 
terest in her almost solitary life, and exercised her mind on the 
only subjects which she could find—to wit, the intrigues which 
went on around her, the ways of provincials, and the ambi- 
tions shut in by their narrow horizons. So she very soon 
fathomed mysteries of which her husband had no idea. As 
she sat at her window with a piece of intermittent embroidery 
work in her fingers, she did not see her woodshed full of 
faggots nor the servant busy at the wash tub; she was looking 
out upon Paris, Paris where everything is pleasure, every- 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 277 


thing is full of life. She dreamed of Paris gaieties, and shed 
tears because she must abide in this dull prison of a country 
town.. She was disconsolate because she lived in a peaceful 
district, where no conspiracy, no great affair would ever occur. 
She saw herself doomed to sit under the shadow of the walnut- 
tree for some time to come. 

Mme. Camusot was a little, plump, fresh, fair-haired wo- 
man, with a very prominent forehead, a mouth which receded, 
and a turned-up chin, a type of countenance which is passable 
in youth, but looks old before the time. Her bright, quick 
eyes expressed her innocent desire to get on in the world, 
and the envy born of her present inferior position, with rather 
too much candor; but still they lighted up her commonplace 
face and set if off with a certain energy of feeling, which suc- 
cess was certain to extinguish in later life. At that time she 
used to give a good deal of time and thought to her dresses, 
inventing trimmings and embroidering them; she planned out 
her costumes with the maid whom she had brought with her 
from Paris, and so maintained the reputation of Parisiennes 
in the provinces. Her caustic tongue was dreaded; she was 
not beloved. In that keen, investigating spirit peculiar to 
unoccupied women who are driven to find some occupation 
for empty days, she had pondered the President’s private opin- 
ions, until at length she discovered what he meant to do, and 
for some time past she had advised Camusot to declare war. 
The young Count’s affair was an excellent opportunity. Was 
it not obviously Camusot’s part to make a stepping-stone of 
this criminal case by favoring the d’Esgrignons, a family with 
power of a very different kind from the power of the du 
Croisier party ? 

“Sauvager will never marry Mlle. Duval. They are dan- 
gling her before him, but he will be the dupe of those 
Machiavels in the Val-Noble to whom he is going to sacrifice 
his position. Camusot, this affair, so unfortunate as it is 
for the d’Esgrignons, so insidiously brought on by the Presi- 
dent for du Croisier’s benefit, will turn out well for nobody 
but you,” she had said, as they went in. 


278 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


The shrewd Parisienne had likewise guessed the Presi- 
dent’s underhand manceuvres with the Blandureaus, and his 
object in baffling old Blondet’s efforts, but she saw nothing to 
be gained by opening the eyes of father or son to the perils of 
the situation ; she was enjoying the beginning of the comedy ; 
she knew about the proposals made by Chesnel’s successor on 
behalf of Fabien du Ronceret, but she did not suspect how im- 
portant that secret might be to her. If she or her husband 
were threatened by the President, Mme. Camusot could 
threaten too, in her turn, to call the amateur gardener’s at- 
tention to a scheme for carrying off the flower which he meant 
to transplant into his house. 

Chesnel had not penetrated, like Mme. Camusot, into the 
means by which Sauvager had been won over; but by dint of — 
looking into the various lives and interests of the men 
grouped about the Lilies of the Tribunal, he knew that he 
could count upon the public prosecutor, upon Camusot, and 
M. Michu. ‘Two judges for the d’Esgrignons would paralyze 
the rest. And, finally, Chesnel knew old Blondet well enough 
to feel sure that if he ever swerved from impartiality, it would 
be for the sake of the work of his whole lifetime,—to secure 
his son’s appointment. So Chesnel slept, full of confidence, 
on the resolve to go to M. Blondet and offer to realize his so 
long cherished hopes, while he opened his eyes to President 
du Ronceret’s treachery. Blondet won over, he would take a 
peremptory tone with the examining magistrate, to whom 
he hoped to prove that if Victurnien was not blameless, he 
had been merely imprudent; the whole thing should be shown 
in the light of a boy’s thoughtless escapade. 

But Chesnel slept neither soundly nor for long. Before 
dawn he was awakened by his housekeeper. The most be- 
witching person in this history, the most adorable youth on 
the face of the globe, Mme. la Duchesse de Maufrigneuse her- 
self, in man’s attire, had driven alone from Paris in a caléche, 
and was waiting to see him. 

“TY have come to save him or to die with him,” said she, 
addressing the notary, who thought that he was dreaming. 


THE JHALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 279 


“TI have brought a hundred thousand frances, given me by 
His Majesty out of his private purse, to buy Victurnien’s in- 
nocence, if his adversary can be bribed. If we fail utterly, 
_ I have brought poison to snatch him away before anything 
takes place, before even the indictment is drawn up. But 
we shall not fail. I have sent word to the public prosecutor ; 
he is on the road behind me; he could not travel in my 
caléche, because he wished to take the instructions of the 
Keeper of the Seals.” 

Chesnel rose to the occasion and played up to the Duchess; 
he wrapped himself in his dressing-gown, fell at her feet and 
kissed them, not without asking her pardon for forgetting 
himself in his joy. 

“We are saved!” cried he; and gave orders to Brigitte to 
see that Mme. la Duchesse had all that she needed after travel- 
ing post all night. He appealed to the fair Diane’s spirit, 
by making her see that it was absolutely necessary that she 
should visit the examining magistrate before daylight, lest 
any one should discover the secret, or so much as imagine that 
the Duchesse de Maufrigneuse had come. 

“And have I not a passport in due form?” quoth she, dis- 
playing a sheet of paper, wherein she was described as M. le 
Vicomte Félix de Vandenesse, Master of Requests, and His 
Majesty’s private secretary. “And do I not play my man’s 
part well?” she added, running her fingers through her wig 
a la Titus, and twirling her riding switch. 

“OQ! Mme. la Duchesse, you are an angel!” cried Chesnel, 
with tears in his eyes. (She was destined always to be an 
angel, even in man’s attire.) “Button up your greatcoat, 
muffle yourself up to the eyes in your traveling cloak, take 
my arm, and let us go as quickly as possible to Camusot’s 
house before anybody can meet us.” 

“Then am I going to see a man called Camusot?” she 
asked. 

“With a nose to match his name,”* assented Chesnel. 

The old notary felt his heart dead within him, but he 


* Camus, flat-nosed 


>? 


280 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


thought it none the less necessary to humor the Duchess, to 
laugh when she laughed, and shed tears when she wept; 
groaning in spirit, all the same, over the feminine frivolity 
which could find matter for a jest while setting about a 
matter so serious. What would he not have done to save 
the Count? While Chesnel dressed, Mme. de Maufrigneuse 
sipped the cup of coffee and cream which Brigitte brought 
her, and agreed with herself that provincial women cooks are 
superior to the Parisian chefs, who despise the little details 
which make all the difference to an epicure. Thanks to 
Chesnel’s taste for delicate fare, Brigitte was found prepared 
to set an excellent meal before the Duchess. 

Chesnel and his charming companion set out for M. and 
Mme. Camusot’s house. 

“Ah! so there is a Mme. Camusot’” said the Duchess. 
“Then the affair may be managed.” 

‘And so much the more readily, because the lady is visibly 
tired enough of living among us provincials; she comes from 
Paris,” said Chesnel. 

“Then we must have no secrets from her?” 

“You will judge how much to tell or to conceal,” Chesnel 
replied humbly. “I am sure that she will be greatly flattered 
to be the Duchesse de Maufrigneuse’s hostess; you will be 
obliged to stay in her house until nightfall, I expect, unless 
you find it inconvenient to remain.” 

“Ts this Mme. Camusot a good-looking woman?” asked the 
Duchess, with a coxcomb’s air. 

“She is a bit of a queen in her own house.” 

“Then she is sure to meddle in court-house affairs,” re- 
turned the Duchess. “Nowhere but in France, my dear M. 
Chesnel, do you see women so much wedded to their husbands 
that they are wedded to their husbands’ professions, work, or 
business as well. In Italy, England, and Germany, women 
make it a point of honor Azo leave men to fight their own 
battles; they shut their eyes to their husbands’ work as 
perseveringly as our French citizens’ wives do all that in them 
lies to understand the position of their joint-stock partner- 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 281 


ship; is not that what you call it in your legal language? 
Frenchwomen are so incredibly jealous in the conduct of their 
married life, that they insist on knowing everything ; and that 
is how, in the least difficulty, you feel the wife’s hand in the 
business; the Frenchwoman advises, guides, and warns her 
husband. And, truth to tell, the man is none the worse off. 
In England, if a married man is put in prison for debt for 
twenty-four hours, his wife will be jealous and make a scene 
when he comes back.” . 

“Here we are, without meeting a soul on the way,” said 
Chesnel. “You are the more sure of complete ascendency 
here, Mme. la Duchesse, since Mme. Camusot’s father is one 
Thirion, usher of the royal cabinet.” 

“And the King never thought of that!” exclaimed the 
Duchess. “He thinks of nothing! Thirion introduced us, 
the Prince de Cadignan, M. de Vandenesse, and me! We 
shall have it all our own way in this house. Settle everything 
with M. Camusot while I talk to his wife.” 

The maid, who was washing and dressing the children, 
showed the visitors into the little fireless dining-room. 

“Take that card to your mistress,” said the Duchess, lower- 
ing her voice for the woman’s ear; “nobody else is to see it. 
If you are discreet, child, you shall not lose by it.” 

At the sound of a woman’s voice, and the sight of the hand- 
some young man’s face, the maid looked thunderstruck. 

“Wake M. Camusot,” said Chesnel, “and tell him, that I 
am waiting to see him on important business,” and she de- 
parted upstairs forthwith. 

A few minutes later Mme. Camusot, in her dressing-gown, 
sprang downstairs. and brought the handsome stranger into 
her room. She had pushed Camusot out of bed and into his 
study with all his clothes, bidding him dress himself at once 
and wait there. The transformation scene had been brought 
about by a bit of pasteboard with the words MADAME LA 
DUCHESSE DE MAUFRIGNEUSE engraved upon it. A daughter 
of the usher of the royal cabinet took in the whole situation 
at once. 


282 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


“Well !’? exclaimed the maid-servant, left with Chesnel in 
the dining-room, “would not any one think that a thunder- 
bolt had dropped in among us? The master is dressing in 
his study; you can go upstairs.” 

“Not a word of all this, mind,” said Chesnel. 

Now that he was conscious of the support of a great lady 
who had the King’s consent (by word of mouth) to the 
measures about to be taken for rescuing the Comte d’Esgri- 
gnon, he spoke with an air of authority, which served his 
cause much better with Camusot than the humility with 
which he would otherwise have approached him. 

“Sir,” said he, “the words let fall last evening may have 
surprised you, but they are serious. The house of 
d’Esgrignon counts upon you for the proper conduct of in- 
vestigations from which it must issue without a spot.” 

“YT shall pass over anything in your remarks, sir, which 
must be offensive to me personally, and obnoxious to justice; 
for your position with regard to the d’Esgrignons excuses you 
up to a certain point, but a 

“Pardon me, sir, if I interrupt you,” said Chesnel. “I 
have just spoken aloud the things which your superiors are 
thinking and dare not avow; though what those things are 
any intelligent man can guess, and you are an intelligent 
man.—Grant that the young man had acted imprudently, can 
you suppose that the sight of a d’Esgrignon dragged into an 
Assize Court can be gratifying to the King, the Court, or 
the Ministry? Is it to the interest of the kingdom, or of 
the country, that historic houses should fall? Is not the ex- 
istence of a great aristocracy, consecrated by time, a guarantee 
of that Equality which is the catchword of the Opposition 
at this moment? Well and good; now not only has there not 
been the slightest imprudence, but we are innocent victims 
caught in a trap.” 

“T am curious to know how,’ 
trate. 

“For the last two years, the Sieur du Croisier has regularly 
allowed M. le Comte d’Esgrignon to draw upon him for very 





> said the examining magis- 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 283 


large sums,” said Chesnel. “We are going to produce drafts 
for more than a hundred thousand crowns, which he con- 
tinually met; the amounts being remitted by me—bear that 
well in mind—either before or after the bills fell due. M. le 
Comte d’Esgrignon is in a position to produce a receipt for 
the sum paid by him, before this bill, this alleged forgery, 
was drawn. Can you fail to see in that case that this charge 
is a piece of spite and party feeling? And a charge brought 
against the heir of a great house by one of the most dangerous 
enemies of the Throne and Altar, what is it but an odious 
slander? There has been no more forgery in this affair than 
there has been in my office. Summon Mme. du Croisier, who 
knows nothing as yet of the charge of forgery; she will declare 
to you that I brought the money and paid it over to her, so 
that in her husband’s absence she might remit the amount 
for which he has not asked her. Examine du Croisier on 
the point ; he will tell you that he knows nothing of my pay- 
ment to Mme. du Croisier.” 

“You may make such assertions as these, sir, in M. d’Hsgri- 
gnon’s salon, or in any other house where people know noth- 
ing of business, and they may be believed; but no examining 
magistrate, unless he is a driveling idiot, can imagine that 
a woman like Mme. du Croisier, so submissive as she is to 
her husband, has a hundred thousand crowns lying in her desk 
at this moment, without saying a word to him; nor yet that 
an old notary would not have advised M. du Croisier of the 
deposit on his return to town.” 

“The old notary, sir, had gone to Paris to put a stop to the 
young man’s extravagance.” 

“T have not yet examined the Comte d’Esgrignon,” Camu- 
sot began; “his answers will point out my duty.” 

“Ts he in close custody ?” 

Be Viggi?? 

“Sir,” said Chesnel, seeing danger ahead, “the examina- 
tion can be made in our interests or against them. But there 
are two courses open to you: you can establish the fact on 
Mme. du Croisier’s deposition that the amount was deposited 
with her before the bill was drawn; or you can examine 


284. THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


the unfortunate young man implicated in this affair, and he 
in his confusion may remember nothing and commit him- 
self. You will decide which is the more credible—a slip of 
memory on the part of a woman in her ignorance of 
business, or a forgery committed by a d’Esgrignon.” 

“All this is beside the point,” began Camusot; “the ques- 
tion is, whether M. le Comte d’Esgrignon has or has not used 
the lower half of a letter addressed to him by du Croisier as 
a bill of exchange.” 

“Eh! and so he might,” a voice cried suddenly, as Mme. 
Camusot broke in, followed by the handsome stranger, “so 
he might, when M. Chesnel had advanced the money to meet 
the bill ¥ 

She leant over her husband. 

“You will have the first vacant appointment as assistant 
judge at Paris, you are serving the King himself in this 
affair; I have proof of it; you will not be forgotten,” she said, 
lowering her voice for his ear. “This young man that you 
see here is the Duchesse de Maufrigneuse; you must never 
have seen her, and do all that you can for the young Count 
boldly.” 

“Gentlemen,” said Camusot, “even if the preliminary ex- 
amination is conducted to prove the young Count’s innocence, 
can I answer for the view the court may take? M. Chesnel, 
and you also, my sweet, know what M. le Président wants.” 

“Tut, tut, tut!’ said Mme. Camusot, “go yourself to M. 
Michu this morning, and tell him that the Count has been 
arrested; you will be two against two in that case, I will be 
bound. Michu comes from Paris, and you know that he is 
devoted to the noblesse. Good blood cannot lie.” 

At that very moment Mlle. Cadot’s voice was heard in the 
doorway. She had brought a note, and was waiting for an 
answer. Camusot went out, and came back again to read the 
note aloud: 





2 


“M. le Vice-Président begs M. Camusot to sit in audience 
to-day and for the next few days, so that there may be a 
quorum during M. le Président’s absence.” 


THD JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 285 


“Then there is an end of the preliminary examination !” 
cried Mme. Camusot. “Did I not tell you, dear, that they 
would play you some ugly trick? The President has gone off to 
slander you to the public prosecutor and the President of the 
Court-Royal. You will be changed before you can make the 
examination. Is that clear?” 

“You will stay, monsieur,” said the Duchess. ‘The public 
prosecutor is coming, I hope, in time.” 

“When the public prosecutor arrives,” little Mme. Camu- 
sot said, with some heat, “he must find all over.—Yes, my 
dear, yes,” she added, looking full at her amazed husband.— 
“Ah! old hypocrite of a President, you are setting your wits 
. against us; you shall remember it! You have a mind to help 
us to a dish of your own making, you shall have two served up 
to you by your humble servant Cécile Amélie Thirion !— 
Poor old Blondet! It is lucky for him that the President 
has taken this journey to turn us out, for now that great oaf 
of a Joseph Blondet will marry Mlle. Blandureau. I will 
let Father Blondet have some seeds in return.—As for you, 
Camusot, go to M. Michu’s, while Mme. la Duchesse and I 
will go to find old Blondet. You must expect to hear it said 
all over the town to-morrow that I took a walk with a lover 
this morning.” 

Mme. Camusot took the Duchess’ arm, and they went 
through the town by deserted streets to avoid any unpleasant 
adventure on the way to the old Vice-President’s house. 
Chesnel meanwhile conferred with the young Count in prison ; 
Camusot had arranged a stolen interview. Cook-maids, 
servants, and the other early risers of a country town, seeing 
Mme. Camusot and the Duchess taking their way through 
the back streets, took the young gentleman for an adorer from 
Paris. That evening, as Cécile Amélie had said, the news of 
her behavior was circulated about the town, and more than 
one scandalous rumor was occasioned thereby. Mme. Camu- 
sot and her supposed lover found old Blondet in his green- 
house. He greeted his colleague’s wife and her companion, 
and gave the charming young man a keen, uneasy glance. 


286 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


“Y have the honor to introduce ‘one of my husband’s 
cousins,” said Mme. Camusot, bringing forward the Duchess ;. 
“he is one of the most distinguished horticulturists in Paris; 
and as he cannot spend more than the one day with us, on his 
way back from Brittany, and has heard of your flowers and 
plants, I have taken the liberty of coming early.” 

“Oh, the gentleman is a horticulturist, is he?” said old 
Blondet. 

The Duchess bowed. 

“This is my coffee-plant,” said Blondet, “and here is a tea- 
plant.” 

“What can have taken M. le Président away from home?” 
put in Mme. Camusot. “I will wager that his absence con- 
cerns M. Camusot.” 

“Hxactly.—This, monsieur, is the queerest of all cactuses,” 
he continued, producing a flower-pot which appeared to con- 
tain a piece of mildewed rattan; “it comes from Australia. 
You are very young, sir, to be a horticulturist.” 

“Dear M. Blondet, never mind your flowers,” said Mme. 
Camusot. “You are concerned, you and your hopes, and your 
son’s marriage with Mlle. Blandureau. You are duped by the 
President.” 

“Bah!” said old Blondet, with an incredulous air. 

“Yes,” retorted she. “If you cultivated people a little more 
and your flowers a little less, you would know that the dowry 
and the hopes that you have sown, and watered, and tilled, 
and weeded are on the point of being gathered now by cunning 
hands.” 

“Madame ! iy 

“Oh, nobody in the town will have the courage to fly in the 
President’s face and warn you. I, however, do not belong to 
the town, and, thanks to this obliging young man, I shall soon 
be going back to Paris; so I can inform you that Chesnel’s 
successor has made formal proposals for Mlle. Claire Blan- 
dureau’s hand on behalf of young du Ronceret, who is to have 
fifty thousand crowns from his parents. As for Fabien, he 
has made up his mind to receive a call to the bar, so as to gain 
an appointment as judge.” | 





THH JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 287 


Old Blondet dropped the flower-pot which he had brought 
out for the Duchess to see. 

“Oh, my cactus! Oh, my son! and Mlle. Blan- 
dureau! . . . Look here! the cactus flower is broken to 
pieces.” 

“No,” Mme. Camusot answered, laughing; “everything 
can be put right. If you have a mind to see your son a 
judge in another month, we will tell you how you must set to 
work e 

“Step this way, sir, and you will see my pelargoniums, an 
enchanting sight while they are in flower ” Then he 
added to Mme. Camusot, “Why did you speak of these mat- 
ters while your cousin was present.” 

“All depends upon him,” riposted Mme. Camusot. “Your 
son’s appointment is lost for ever if you let fall a word about 
this young man.” 

“Bah ie 

“The young man is a flower iG 

coh ire 

“He is the Duchesse de Maufrigneuse, sent here by His 
Majesty to save young d’Hsgrignon, whom they arrested yes- 
terday on a charge of forgery brought against him by du 
Croisier. Mme. la Duchesse has authority from the Keeper 
of the Seals; he will ratify any promises that she makes to 
us bP) 














“My cactus is all right!” exclaimed Blondet, peering at 
his precious plant.—“Go on, I am listening.” 

“Take counsel with Camusot and Michu to hush up the 
affair as soon as possible, and your son will get the appoint- 
ment. It will come in time enough to baffle du Ronceret’s 
underhand dealings with the Blandureaus. Your son will 
be something better than assistant judge; he will have M. 
_ Camusot’s post within the year. The public prosecutor will 
be here to-day. M. Sauvager will be obliged to resign, I 
expect, after his conduct in this affair. At the court my hus- 
band will show you documents which completely exonerate 
the Count and prove that the forgery was a trap of du 
Croisier’s own setting.” 


288 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


Old Blondet went into the Olympic circus where his six 
thousand pelargoniums stood, and made his bow to the 
Duchess. 

“Monsieur,” said he, “if your wishes do not exceed the law, 
this thing may be done.” 

“Monsieur,” returned the Duchess, “send in your resigna- 
tion to M. Chesnel to-morrow, and I will promise you that 
your son shall be appointed within the week; but you must 
not resign until you have had confirmation of my promise 
from the public prosecutor. You men of law will come to 
a better understanding among yourselves. Only let him 
know that the Duchesse de Maufrigneuse has pledged her 
word to you. And not a word as to my journey hither,” she 
added. 

The old judge kissed her hand and began recklessly to 
gather his best flowers for her. 

“Can you think of it? Give them to madame,” said the 
Duchess. “A young man would not have flowers about him 
when he had a pretty woman on his arm.” 

“Before you go down to the court,” added Mme. Camusot, 
“ask Chesnel’s successor about those proposals that he made 
in the name of M. and Mme. du Ronceret.” 

Old Blondet, quite overcome by this revelation of the Presi- 
dent’s duplicity, stood planted on his feet by the wicket gate, 
looking after the two women as they hurried away through 
by-streets home again. ‘The edifice raised so painfully during 
ten years for his beloved son was crumbling visibly before 
his eyes. Was it possible? He suspected some trick, and 
hurried away to Chesnel’s successor. 

At half-past nine, before the court was sitting, Vice-Presi- 
dent Blondet, Camusot, and Michu met with remarkable 
punctuality in the council chamber. Blondet locked the door 
with some precautions when Camusot and Michu came in to- 
gether. 

“Well, Mr. Vice-President,” began Michu, “M. Sauvager, 
without consulting the public prosecutor, has issued a warrant 
for the apprehension of one Comte d’Esgrignon, in order to 


eer eer i ~ 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 989 


serve a grudge borne against him by one du Croisier, an 
enemy of the King’s government. It is a regular topsy-turvy 
affair. The President, for his part, goes away, and thereby 
puts a stop to the preliminary examination! And we know 
nothing of the matter. Do they, by any chance, mean to 
force our hand ?” 

“This is the first word I have heard of it,” said the Vice- 
President. He was furious with the President for stealing a 
march on him with the Blandureaus. Chesnel’s successor, 
the du Roncerets’ man, had just fallen into a snare set by 
the old judge; the truth was out, he knew the secret. 

“It is lucky that we spoke to you about that matter, my 
dear master,” said Camusot, “or you might have given up all 
hope of seating your son on the bench or of marrying him to 
Mlle. Blandureau.” 


“But it is no question of my son, nor of his marriage,” 


said the Vice-President; “we are talking of young Comte 


d’Esgrignon. Is he or is he not guilty?” 

“It seems that Chesnel deposited the amount to meet the 
bill with Mme. du Croisier,” said Michu, “and a crime has 
been made of a mere irregularity. According to the charge, 
the Count made use of the lower half of a letter bearing du 
Croisier’s signature as a draft which he cashed at the Kel- 
lers’.”” 

“An imprudent thing to do,” was Camusot’s comment. 

“But why is du Croisier proceeding against him if the 
amount was paid in beforehand ?” asked Vice-President Blon- 
det. 

“He does not know that the money was deposited with 
his wife; or he pretends that he does not know,” said Camu- 
sot. | 

“It is a piece of provincial spite,” said Michu. 

“Still it looks like a forgery to me,” said old Blondet. No 
passion could obscure judicial clear-sightedness in him. 

“Do you think so?” returned Camusot. “But, at the out- 
set, supposing that the Count had no business to draw upon 
du Croisier, there would still be no forgery of the signature ; 


290 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


and the Count believed that he had a right to draw on. 
Croisier when Chesnel advised him that the money had been 
placed to his credit.” 

“Well, then, where is the forgery?” asked Blondet. “It 
is the intent to defraud which constitutes forgery in a civil 
action.” 

“Oh, it is clear, if you take du Croisier’s version for truth, 
that the signature was diverted from its purpose to obtain a 
sum of money in spite of du Croisier’s contrary injunction to 
his bankers,” Camusot answered. 

“Gentlemen,” said Blondet, “this seems to me to be a mere 
trifle, a quibble-——Suppose you had the money, I ought per- 
haps to have waited until I had your authorization; but I, 
Comte d’Esgrignon, was pressed for money, so I Come, 
come, your prosecution is a piece of revengeful spite. 
Forgery is defined by the law as an attempt to obtain any ad- 
vantage which rightfully belongs to another. There is no 
forgery here, according to the letter of the Roman law, nor 
according to the spirit of modern jurisprudence (always from 
the point of view of a civil action, for we are not here con- 
cerned with the falsification of public or authentic docu- 
ments). Between private individuals the essence of a forgery 
is the intent to defraud; where is it in this case? In what 
times are we living, gentlemen? Here is the President going 
away to balk a preliminary examination which ought to be 
over by this time! Until to-day I did not know. M. le Prési- 
dent, but he shall have the benefit of arrears; from this time 
forth he shall draft his decisions himself. You must set 
about this affair with all possible speed, M. Camusot.” 

“Yes,” said Michu. “In my opinion, instead of letting the 
young man out on bail, we ought to pull him out of this mess 
at once. Hverything turns on the examination of du Croisier 
and his wife. You might summons them to appear while 
the court is sitting, M. Camusot; take down their depositions 
before four o’clock, send in your report to-night, and we will 
give our decision in the morning before the court sits.” 

“We will settle what course to pursue while the barristers 





THE JHEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 291 


are pleading,’ said Vice-President Blondet, addressing 
Camusot. 

And with that the three judges put on their robes and went 
into court. 

At noon Mlle. Armande and the Bishop reached the Hotel 
d’Esgrignon; Chesnel and M. Couturier were there to meet 
them. ‘There was a sufficiently short conference between the 
prelate and Mme. du Croisier’s director, and the latter set 
out at once to visit his charge. 

At eleven o’clock that morning du Croisier received a sum- 
mons to appear in the examining magistrate’s office between 
one and two in the afternoon. Thither he betook himself, 
consumed by well-founded suspicions. It was impossible that 
the President should have foreseen the arrival of the Duchesse 
de Maufrigneuse upon the scene, the return of the public 
prosecutor, and the hasty confabulation of his learned 
brethren; so he had omitted to trace out a plan for “du 
Croisier’s guidance in the event of the preliminary examina- 
tion taking place. Neither of the pair imagined that the 
proceedings would be hurried on in this way. Du Croisier 
obeyed the summons at once; he wanted to know how M. 
Camusot was disposed to act. So he was compelled to answer 
the questions put to him. Camusot addressed him in sum- 
mary fashion with the six following inquiries :— 

“Was the signature on the bill alleged to be a forgery in 
your handwriting ?—Had you previously done business with 
_M. le Comte d’Esgrignon ?—Was not M. le Comte d’Esgrignon 
in the habit of drawing upon you, with or without advice ?— 
Did you not write a letter authorizing M. d’Esgrignon to rely 
upon you at any time ?—Had not Chesnel squared the account 
not once, but many times already ?—Were you not away from 
home when this took place ?” 

All these questions the banker answered in the affirmative. 
In spite of wordy explanations, the magistrate always brought 
him back to a “Yes” or “No.” When the questions and 
answers alike had been resumed in the procés-verbal, the ex- 
amining magistrate brought out a final thunderbolt. 


292 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


“Was du Croisier aware that the money destined to meet 
the bill had been deposited with him, du Croisier, according 
to Chesnel’s declaration, and a letter of advice sent by the said 
Chesnel to the Comte d’Esgrignon, five days before the date 
of the bill ?” 

That last question frightened du Croisier. He asked what 
was meant by it, and whether he was supposed to be the de- 
fendant and M. le Comte d’Hsgrignon the plaintiff? He 
called the magistrate’s attention to the fact that if the money 
had been deposited with him, there was no ground for the 
action. 

“Justice is seeking information,” said the magistrate, as 
he dismissed the witness, but not before he had taken down 
du Croisier’s last observation. 

“But the money, sir th 

“The money is at your house.” 

Chesnel, likewise summoned, came forward to explain the 
matter. ‘The truth of his assertions was borne out by Mme. 
du Croisier’s deposition. The Count had already been ex- 
amined. Prompted by Chesnel, he produced du Croisier’s 
first letter, in which he begged the Count to draw upon him 
without the insulting formality of depositing the amount 
beforehand. The Comte d’Esgrignon next brought out a 
letter in Chesnel’s handwriting, by which the notary advised 
him of the deposit of a hundred thousand crowns with M. 
du Croisier. With such primary facts as these to bring for- 
ward as evidence, the young Count’s innocence was bound to 
emerge triumphantly from a court of law. | 

Du Croisier went home from the court, his face white 
with rage, and the foam of repressed fury on his lips. His 
wife was sitting by the fireside in the drawing-room at work 
upon a pair of slippers for him. She trembled when she 
looked into his face, but her mind was made up. 

“Madame,” he stammered out, “what deposition is this 
that you made before the magistrate? You have dishonored, 
ruined, and betrayed me!” 

“T have saved you, monsieur,”’ answered she. “If some 





THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 293 


day you will have the honor of connecting yourself with the 
d’Esgrignons by marrying your niece to the Count, it will 
be entirely owing to my conduct to-day.” 

““A miracle!” cried he. ‘“Balaam’s ass has spoken. Noth- 
ing will astonish me after this. And where are the hundred 
thousand crowns which (so M. Camusot tells me) are here 
in my house?” 

“Here they are,” said she, pulling out a bundle of bank- 
notes from beneath the cushions of her settee. “I have not 
committed mortal sin by declaring that M. Chesnel gave them 
into my keeping.” 

“While I was away?” 

“You were not here.” 

“Will you swear that to me on your salvation?” 

“T swear it,” she said composedly. 

“Then why did you say nothing to me about it?” de- 
manded he. 

“I was wrong there,” said his wife, “but my mistake was 
all for your good. Your niece will be Marquise d’Esgrignon 
some of these days, and you will perhaps be a deputy, if you 
behave well in this deplorable business. You have gone too 
far; you must find out how to get back again.” 

Du Croisier, under stress of painful agitation, strode up 
and down his drawing-room; while his wife, in no less agita- 
tion, awaited the result of this exercise. Du Croisier at 
length rang the bell. 

“T am not at home to any one to-night,” he said, when the 
man appeared; “shut the gates; and if any one calls, tell 
them that your mistress and I have gone into the country. 
We shall start directly after dinner, and dinner must be half 
an hour earlier than usual.” 


3 


The great news was discussed that evening in every draw- 
ing-room; little shopkeepers, working folk, beggars, the 
noblesse, the merchant class—the whole town, in short, was 
talking of the Comte d’Esgrignon’s arrest on a charge of 
forgery. The Comte d’Esgrignon would be tried in the 


294 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


Assize Court; he would be condemned and branded. Most 
of those who cared for the honor of the family denied the 
fact. At nightfall Chesnel went to Mme. Camusot and es- 
corted the stranger to the Hotel d’Esgrignon. Poor Mlle. 
Armande was expecting him; she led the fair Duchess to her 
own room, which she had given up to her, for his lordship 
the Bishop occupied Victurnien’s chamber; and, left alone 
with her guest, the noble woman glanced at the Duchess with 
most piteous eyes. 

“Your owed help, indeed, madame, to the poor boy who 
ruined himself for your sake,” she said, “the boy to whom we 
are all of us sacrificing ourselves.” 

The Duchess had already made a woman’s survey of Mlle. 
d’Esgrignon’s room; the cold, bare, comfortless chamber, 
that might have been a nun’s cell, was like a picture of the 
life of the heroic woman before her. The Duchess saw it all 
—past, present, and future—with rising emotion, felt the 
incongruity of her presence, and cculd not keep back the 
falling tears that made answer for her. 

But in Mlle. Armande the Christian overcame Victurnien’s 
aunt. “Ah, I was wrong; forgive me, Mme. la Duchesse; 
you did not know how poor we were, and my nephew was in- 
capable of the admission. And besides, now that I see you, I 
can understand all—even the crime!” 

And Mlle. Armande, withered and thin and white, but 
beautiful as those tall austere slender figures which German 
art alone can paint, had tears too in her eyes. 

“Do not fear, dear angel,’ the Duchess said at last; “he 
is safe.” 

“Yes, but honor ?—and his career? Chesnel told me; the 
King knows the truth.” 

“We will think of a way of repairing the evil,” said the 
Duchess. 

Mlle. Armande went downstairs to the salon, and found 
the Collection of Antiquities complete to a man. Every one 
of them had come, partly to do honor to the Bishop, partly 
to rally round the Marquis; but Chesnel, posted in the ante- 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 295 


chamber, warned each new arrival to say no word of the affair, 
that the aged Marquis might never know that such a thing had 
been. The loyal Frank was quite capable of killing his son 
or du Croisier; for either the one or the other must have 
been guilty of death in his eyes. It chanced, strangely 
enough, that he talked more of Victurnien than usual; he was 
glad that his son had gone back to Paris. The King would 
give Victurnien a place before very long; the King was in- 
teresting himself at last in the d’Esgrignons. And his 
friends, their hearts dead within them, praised Victurnien’s 
conduct to the skies. Mlle. Armande prepared the way for 
her nephew’s sudden appearance among them by remarking 
to her brother that Victurnien would be sure to come to see 
them, and that he must be even then on his way. 

“Bah!” said the Marquis, standing with his back to the 
hearth, “if he is doing well where he is, he ought to stay 
there, and not to be thinking of the joy it would give his 
old father to see him again. ‘The King’s service has the 
first claim.” 

Scarcely one of those present heard the words without a 
shudder. Justice might give over a d’Esgrignon to the ex- 
ecutioner’s branding iron. There was a dreadful pause. 
The old Marquise de Castéran could not keep back a tear 
that stole down over her rouge, and turned her head away 
to hide it. 

Next day at noon, in the sunny weather, a whole excited 
population was dispersed in groups along the high street, 
which ran through the heart of the town, and nothing was 
talked of but the great affair. Was the Count in prison or 
was he not ?—All at once the Comte d’Esgrignon’s well-known 
tilbury was seen driving down the Rue Saint-Blaise; it had 
evidently come from the Prefecture, the Count himself was 
on the box seat, and by his side sat a charming young man, 
whom nobody recognized. The pair were laughing and talking 
and in great spirits. They wore Bengal roses in their button- 
holes. Altogether, it was a theatrical surprise which words 
fail to describe. 


296 THE JHALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


At ten o’clock the court had decided to dismiss the charge, 
stating their very sufficient reasons for setting the Count. 
at liberty, in a document which contained a thunderbolt for 
du Croisier, in the shape of an inasmuch that gave the Count 
the right to institute proceedings for libel. Old Chesnel was 
walking up the Grande Rue, as if by accident, telling all who 
cared to hear him that du Croisier had set the most shameful 
snares for the d’Esgrignons’ honor, and that it was entirely 
owing to the forbearance and magnanimity of the family that 
he was not prosecuted for slander. 

On the evening of that famous day, after the Marquis 
d’Esgrignon had gone to bed, the Count, Mlle. Armande, and 
the Chevalier were left with the handsome young page, now 
about to return to Paris. The charming cavalier’s sex could 
not be hidden from the Chevalier, and he alone, besides the 
three officials and Mme. Camusot, knew that the Duchess had 
been among them. 

“The house is saved,” began Chesnel, “but after this shock 
it will take a hundred years to rise again. The debts must 
be paid now; you must marry an heiress, M. le Comte, there 
is nothing else left for you to do.” 

“And take her where you may find her,’ said the 
Duchess. 

“A second mésalliance!” exclaimed Mlle. Armande. 

The Duchess began to laugh. 

“It is better to marry than to die,” she said. As she spoke 
she drew from her waistcoat pocket a tiny crystal phial that 
came from the court apothecary. 

Mlle. Armande shrank away in horror. Old Chesnel took 
the fair Maufrigneuse’s hand, and kissed it without permis- 
sion. 

“Are you all out of your minds here?” continued the 
Duchess. “Do you really expect to live in the fifteenth cen- 
tury when the rest of the world has reached the nineteenth ? 
My dear children, there is no noblesse nowadays; there is no 
aristocracy left! Napoleon’s Code Civil made an end of the 
parchments, exactly as cannon made an end of feudal castles. 


AN) 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 297 


When you have some money, you will be very much more of 
nobles than you are now. Marry anybody you please, Vic- 
turnien, you will raise your wife to your rank; that is the 
most substantial privilege left to the French noblesse. Did 
not M. de Talleyrand marry Mme. Grandt without com- 
promising his position? Remember that Louis XIV. took 
the Widow Scarron for his wife.” 

“He did not marry her for her money,” interposed Mlle. 
Armande. 

“Tf the Comtesse d’Esgrignon were one du Croisier’s niece, 
for instance, would you receive her?” asked Chesnel. 

“Perhaps,” replied the Duchess; “but the King, beyond all 
doubt, would be very glad to see her.—So you do not know 
what is going on in the world?” continued she, seeing the 
amazement in their faces. ‘“Victurnien has been in Paris; 
he knows how things go there. We had more influence under 
Napoleon. Marry Mlle. Duval, Victurnien; she will be just 
as much Marquise d’Esgrignon as I am Duchesse de Maufri- 
eneuse.” 

“All is lost—even honor!” said the Chevalier, with a wave 
of the hand. 

“Good-bye, Victurnien,” said the Duchess, kissing her lover 
on the forehead ; “we shall not see each other again. Live on 
your lands; that is the best thing for you to do; the air of 


Paris is not at all good for you.” 


“Diane!” the young Count cried despairingly. 

“Monsieur, you forget yourself strangely,” the Duchess 
retorted coolly, as she laid aside her réle of man and mistress, 
and became not merely an angel again, but a duchess, and 
not only a duchess, but Moliére’s Céliméne. 

The Duchesse de Maufrigneuse made a stately bow to these 
four personages, and drew from the Chevalier his last tear 
of admiration at the service of le beaw seze. 

“How like she is to the Princess Goritza!” he exclaimed 
in a low voice. 

Diane had disappeared. The crack of the postilion’s whip 
told Victurnien that the fair romance of his first love was 


298 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


over. While the peril lasted, Diane could still see her lover 
in the young Count; but out of danger, she despised him for 
the weakling that he was. 


Six months afterwards, Camusot received the appointment 
of assistant judge at Paris, and later he became an examin- 
ing magistrate. Goodman Blondet was made a councillor 
to the Royal-Court; he held the post just long enough to 
secure a retiring pension, and then went back to live in his 
pretty little house. Joseph Blondet sat in his father’s seat at 
the court till the end of his days; there was not the faintest 
chance of promotion for him, but he became Mlle. Blan- 
dureau’s husband; and she, no doubt, is leading to-day, in the 
little flower-covered brick house, as dull a life as any carp in 
a marble basin. Michu and Camusot also received the Cross — 
of the Legion of Honor, while Blondet became an Officer. As 
for M. Sauvager, deputy public prosecutor, he was sent to 
Corsica, to du Croisier’s great relief; he had decidedly no 
mind to bestow his niece upon that functionary. 

Du Croisier himself, urged by President du Ronceret, ap- 
pealed from the finding of the Tribunal to the Court-Royal, 
and lost his cause. The Liberals throughout the department 
held that little d’Esgrignon was guilty; while the Royalists, 
on the other hand, told frightful stories of plots woven by 
“that abominable du Croisier” to compass his revenge. A 
duel was fought indeed; the hazard of arms favored du 
Croisier, the young Count was dangerously wounded, and his 
antagonist maintained his words. This affair embittered the 
strife between the two parties; the Liberals brought it for- 
ward on all occasions. Meanwhile du Croisier never could 
earry his election, and saw no hope of marrying his niece to 
the Count, especially after the duel. 

A month after the decision of the Tribunal was con- 
firmed in the Court-Royal, Chesnel died, exhausted by the 
dreadful strain, which had weakened and shaken himmentally — 
and physically. He died in the hour of victory, like some i 
old faithful hound that has brought the boar to bay, and gets 





THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 299 


his death on the tusks. He died as happily as might be, 
seeing that he left the great House all but ruined, and the heir 
in penury, bored to death by an idle life, and without a hope 
of establishing himself. That bitter thought and his own ex- 
haustion, no doubt, hastened the old man’s end. One great 
comfort came to him as he lay amid the wreck of so many 
hopes, sinking under the burden of so many cares—the old 
Marquis, at his sister’s entreaty, gave him back all the old 
friendship. The great lord came to the little house in the 
Rue du Bercail, and sat by his old servant’s bedside, all un- 
aware how much that servant had done and sacrificed for 
him. Chesnel sat upright, and repeated Simeon’s cry.—The 
Marquis allowed them to bury Chesnel in the castle chapel; 
they laid him crosswise at the foot of the tomb which was 
waiting for the Marquis himself, the last, in a sense, of the 
d’ Esgrignons. 

And so died one of the last representatives of that great 
and beautiful thing, Service; giving to that often discredited 
word its original meaning, the relation between feudal lord 
and servitor. That relation, only to be found in some out-of- 
the-way province, or among a few old servants of the King, 
did honor alike to a noblesse that could call forth such affec- 
tion, and to a bourgeoisie that could conceive it. Such noble 
and magnificent devotion is no longer possible among us. 
Noble houses have no servitors left; even as France has no 
longer a King, nor an hereditary peerage, nor lands that are 
bound irrevocably to an historic house, that the glorious 
names of a nation may be perpetuated. Chesnel was not 
merely one of the obscure great men of private life; he was 
something more—he was a great fact. In his sustained self- 
devotion is there not something indefinably solemn and sub- 
lime, something that rises above the one beneficent deed, or the 
heroic height which is reached by a moment’s supreme effort ? 
Chesnel’s virtues belong essentially to the classes which stand 
between the poverty of the people on the one hand, and the 
greatness of the aristocracy on the other ;for these can combine 
homely burgher virtues with the heroic ideals of the noble, 
enlightening both by a solid education. 


300 THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 


Victurnien was not well looked upon at Court; there was 
no more chance of a great match for him, nor a_ place. 
His Majesty steadily refused to raise the d’ Esgrignons to the 
peerage, the one royal favor which could rescue Victurnien 
from his wretched position. It was impossible that he 
should marry a bourgeoise heiress in his father’s lifetime, so 
he was bound to live on shabbily under the paternal roof with 
memories of his two years of splendor in Paris, and the lost 
love of a great lady to bear him company. He grew moody 
and depressed, vegetating at home with a careworn aunt and a 
half heart-broken father, who attributed his son’s condition 
to a wasting malady. Chesnel was no longer there. 

The Marquis died in 1830. The great d’Esgrignon, with 
a following of all the less infirm noblesse from the Collection 
of Antiquities, went to wait upon Charles X. at Nonancourt; © 
he paid his respects to his sovereign, and swelled the meagre 
train of the fallen king. It was an act of courage which 
seems simple enough to-day, but, in that time of enthusiastic 
revolt, it was heroism. 

“The Gaul has conquered!” ‘These were the Marquis’ 
last words. 

By that time du Croisier’s victory was complete. The 
new Marquis d’Esgrignon accepted Mlle. Duval as his wife 
a week after his old father’s death. His bride brought him 
three millions of francs, for du Croisier and his wife settled 
the reversion of their fortunes upon her in the marriage-con- 
tract. Du Croisier took occasion to say during the ceremony 
that the d’Esgrignon family was the most honorable of all the 
ancient houses in France. 

Some day the present Marquis d’Esgrignon will have an in- 
come of more than a hundred thousand crowns. You may 
see him in Paris, for he comes to town every winter and leads 
a jolly bachelor life, while he treats his wife with something 
more than the indifference of the grand setgneur of olden 
times; he takes no thought whatever for her. 

“As for Mlle. d’Esgrignon,” said Mmile Blondet, to whom 
all the detail of the story is due, “if she is no longer like the 


THE JEALOUSIES OF A COUNTRY TOWN 301 


divinely fair woman whom I saw by glimpses in my childhood, 
she is decidedly, at the age of sixty-seven, the most pathetic 
and interesting figure in the Collection of Antiquities. She 
queens it among them still. I saw her when I made my last 
journey to my native place in search of the necessary papers 
for my marriage. When my father knew who it was that I 
had married, he was struck dumb with amazement; he had not 
a word to say until I told him that I was a prefect. 

“““You were born to it,’ he said, with a smile. 

“As I took a walk around the town, I met Mlle. Armande. 
She looked taller than ever. I looked at her, and thought of 
Marius among the ruins of Carthage. Had she not outlived 
her creed, and the beliefs that had been destroyed? She is 
a sad and silent woman, with nothing of her old beauty left 
except the eyes, that shine with an unearthly lght. I 
watched her on her way to mass, with her book in her hand, 
and could not help thinking that she prayed to God to take 
her out of the world.” | 


Les JARDIES, July 1837. 





THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


- Dedicated to Monsieur le Contre-Amiral Bazoche, Governor of the 
Isle of Bourbon, by the grateful writer. DE BALZAC. 


IN 1828, at about one o’clock one morning, two persons came 
out of a large house in the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré, 
near the Elysée-Bourbon. One was a famous doctor, Horace 
Bianchon; the other was one of the most elegant men in 
Paris, the Baron de Rastignac; they were friends of long 
standing. Each had sent away his carriage, and no cab was 
to be seen in the street; but the night was fine, and the pave- 
ment dry. | 

“We will walk as far as the boulevard,” said Eugéne de 
Rastignac to Bianchon. “You can get a hackney cab at the 
club; there is always one to be found there till daybreak. 
Come with me as far as my house.” 

“With pleasure.” 

“Well, and what have you to say about it?” 

“About that woman?” said the doctor coldly. 

“There I recognize my Bianchon!” exclaimed Rastignac. 

“Why, how?” 

“Well, my dear fellow, you speak of the Marquise d’Espard 
as if she were a case for your hospital.” 

“Do you want to know what I think, Eugéne’ If you 
throw over Madame de Nucingen for this Marquise, you will 
swap a one-eyed horse for a blind one.” 

“Madame de Nucingen is six-and-thirty, Bianchon.” 

“And this woman is three-and-thirty,’ said the doctor 
quickly. | 

“Her worst enemies only say six-and-twenty.” 

“My dear boy, when you really want to know a woman’s 
age, look at her temples and the tip of her nose. Whatever 
women may achieve with their cosmetics, they can do nothing 
against those incorruptible witnesses to their experiences. 


(303) 


304 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


There each year of life has left its stigmata. When a woman’s 
temples are flaccid, seamed, withered in a particular 
way; when at the tip of her nose you see those minute specks, 
which look like the imperceptible black smuts which are shed 
in London by the chimneys in which coal is burnt. : 
Your servant, sir! That woman is more than thirty. She 
may be handsome, witty, loving—whatever you please, but 
she is past thirty, she is arriving at maturity. I do not 
blame men who attach themselves to that kind of woman; 
only, a man of your superior distinction must not mistake a 
winter pippin for a little summer apple, smiling on the 
bough, and waiting for you to crunch it. Love never goes 
to study the registers of birth and marriage; no one loves 
a woman because she is handsome or ugly, stupid or clever; | 
we love because we love.” 

“Well, for my part, I love for quite other reasons. She is 
Marquise d’Espard; she was a Blamont-Chauvry; she is the 
fashion; she has soul; her foot is as pretty as the Duchesse 
de Berri’s; she has perhaps a hundred thousand francs a 
year—some day, perhaps, I may marry her! In short, she. 
will put me into a position which will enable me to pay my 
debts.” 

“T thought you were rich,” interrupted Bianchon. 

“Bah! I have twenty thousand francs a year—just enough 
to keep up my stables. I was thoroughly done, my dear fel- 
low, in that Nucingen business; I will tell you about that.— 
I have got my sisters married; that is the clearest profit I 
can show since we last met; and I would rather have them 
provided for than have five hundred thousand francs a year. 
Now, what would you have me do? I am ambitious. To what 
can Madame de Nucingen lead? A year more and I shall 
be shelved, stuck in a pigeon-hole like a married man. I 
have all the discomforts of marriage and of single life, with- 
out the advantages of either; a false position to which every 
man must come who remains tied too long to the same apron- 
string.” 

“So you think you will come upon a treasure here?” said 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 305 


Bianchon. “Your Marquise, my dear fellow, does not hit 
my fancy at all.” 

“Your liberal opinions blur your eyesight. If Madame 

d’Espard were a Madame Rabourdin é 
“Listen to me. Noble or simple, she would still have no 
soul; she would still be a perfect type of selfishness. ‘Take 
my word for it, medical men are accustomed to judge of 
people and things; the sharpest of us read the soul while we 
study the body. In spite of that pretty boudoir where we 
have spent this evening, in spite of the magnificence of the 
house, it is quite possible that Madame la Marquise is in 
debt.” 

“What makes you think so?” 

“I do not assert it; I am supposing. She talked of her soul 
as Louis XVIII. used to talk of his heart. I tell you this: 
That fragile, fair woman, with her chestnut hair, who pities 
herself that she may be pitied, enjoys an iron constitution, 
an appetite like a wolf’s, and the strength and cowardice of 
a tiger. Gauze, and silk, and muslin were never more cleverly 
twisted round a lie! Ecco.” 

“Bianchon, you frighten me! You have learned a good 
many things, then, since we lived in the Maison Vauquer?” 

“Yes; since then, my boy, I have seen puppets, both dolls 
and manikins. J know something of the ways of the fine 
ladies whose bodies we attend to, saving that which is dearest 
to them, their child—if they love it—or their pretty faces, 
which they always worship. A man spends his nights by 
their pillow, wearing himself to death to spare them the 
slightest loss of beauty in any part; he succeeds, he keeps 
their secret like the dead; they send to ask for his bill, and 
think it horribly exorbitant. Who saved them? Nature. 
Far from recommending him, they speak ill of him, fearing 
lest he should become the physician of their best friends. 

“My dear fellow, those women of whom you say, “They are 
angels !’ [—JI-——have seen stripped of the little grimaces under 
which they hide their soul, as well as of the frippery under 


306 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


which they disguise their defects—without manners and 
without stays; they are not beautiful. 

“We saw a great deal of mud, a great deal of dirt, under 
the waters of the world when we were aground for a time on 
the shoals of the Maison Vauquer.—What we saw there was 
nothing. Since I have gone into higher society, I have seen 
monsters dressed in satin, Michonneaus in white gloves, 
Poirets bedizened with orders, fine gentlemen doing more 
usurious business than old Gobseck! To the shame of man- 
kind, when I have wanted to shake hands with Virtue, I have 
found her shivering in a loft, persecuted by calumny, half- 
starving on an income or a salary of fifteen hundred francs 
a year, and regarded as crazy, or eccentric, or imbecile. 

“In short, my dear boy, the Marquise is a woman of 
fashion, and I have a particular horror of that kind of 
woman. Do you want to know why? A woman who has a 
lofty soul, fine taste, gentle wit, a generously warm heart, and 
who lives a simple life, has not a chance of being the fashion. 
Ergo: A woman of fashion and a man in power are analo- 
gous; but there is this difference: the qualities by which a 
man raises himself above others ennoble. him and are a glory 
to him; whereas the qualities by which a woman gains power 
for a day are hideous vices; she belies her nature to hide her 
character, and to live the militant life of the world she must 
have iron strength under a frail appearance. 

“T, as a physician, know that a sound stomach excludes a 
good heart. Your woman of fashion feels nothing; her rage 
for pleasure has its source in a longing to heat up her cold 
nature, a craving for excitement and enjoyment, like an old 
‘man who stands night after night by the footlights at the 
opera. As she has more brain than heart, she sacrifices 
genuine passion and true friends to her triumph, as a gen- 
eral sends his most devoted subalterns to the front in order 
to win a battle. The woman of fashion ceases to be a woman; 
she is neither mother, nor wife, nor lover. She is, medically 
speaking, sex in the brain. And your Marquise, too, has all 
the characteristics of her monstrosity, the beak of a bird of 


a a 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 307 


prey, the clear, cold eye, the gentle voice—she is as polished 
as the steel of a machine, she touches everything except the 
heart.” 

“There is some truth in what you say, Bianchon.” 

“Some truth?” replied Bianchon. “It is all true. Do you 
suppose that I was not struck to the heart by the insulting 
politeness by which she made me measure the imaginary dis- 
tance which her noble birth sets between us? ‘That I did 
not feel the deepest pity for her cat-like civilities when I re- 
membered what her object was? A year hence she will not 
write one word to do me the slightest service, and this even- 
ing she pelted me with smiles, believing that I can influence 
my uncle Popinot, on whom the success of her case a 

“Would you rather she should have played the fool with 
you, my dear fellow?—I accept your diatribe against women 
of fashion; but you are beside the mark. I should always 
prefer for a wife a Marquise d’Espard to the most devout 
and devoted creature on earth. Marry an angel! you would 
have to go and bury your happiness in the depths of the coun- 
try! The wife of a politician is a governing machine, a con- 
trivance that makes compliments and courtesies. She is the 
most important and most faithful tool which an ambitious 
man can use; a friend, in short, who may compromise her- 
self without mischief, and whom he may belie without harm- 
ful results. Fancy Mahomet in Paris in the nineteenth cen- 
tury! His wife would be a Rohan, a Duchesse de Chevreuse 
of the Fronde, as keen and as flattering as an Ambassadress, 
as wily as Figaro. Your loving wives lead nowhere; a woman 
of the world leads to everything; she is the diamond with 
which a man cuts every window when he has not the golden 
key which unlocks every door. Leave humdrum virtues to 
the humdrum, ambitious vices to the ambitious. 

“Besides, my dear fellow, do you imagine that the love of a 
Duchesse de Langeais, or de Maufrigneuse, or of a Lady 
Dudley does not bestow immense pleasure? If only you knew 
how much value the cold, severe style of such women gives 
to the smallest evidence of their affection! What a delight 





e 


308 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


it is to see a periwinkle piercing through the snow! A smile 
from below a fan contradicts the reserve of an assumed at-, 
titude, and is worth all the unbridled tenderness of your 
middle-class women with their mortgaged devotion; for, in 
love, devotion is nearly akin to speculation. 

“And, then, a woman of fashion, a Blamont-Chauvry, has 
her virtues too! Her virtues are fortune, power, effect, a 
certain contempt of all that is beneath her H 

“Thank you!” said Bianchon. 

“Old curmudgeon!” said Rastignac, lsuehing. “Come— 
do not be common; do like your friend Desplein; be a Baron, 
a Knight of Saint-Michael : become a peer of France, and 
marry your daughters to dukes.” 

“IT! May the five hundred thousand devils 

“Come, come! Can you be Superior only in medicine? 
Really, you distress me . . 

“T hate that sort of neue: I long for a revolution to de- 
liver us from them for ever.’ 

“‘And so, my dear Robespierre of the lancet, you will not 
go to-morrow to your uncle Popinot ?” 

“Yes, I will,” said Bianchon; “for you I would go to hell 
toitetch water) (ii. 17% 

“My good friend, you really touch me. I have sworn that 
a commission shall sit on the Marquis. Why, here is even 
a long-saved tear to thank you.” | 

“But,” Bianchon went on, “I do not promise to succeed 
as you wish with Jean-Jules Popinot. You do not know 
him. However, I will take him to see your Marquise the day 
after to-morrow ; she may get round him if she can. I doubt 
it. If all the truffles, all the Duchesses, all the mistresses, 
and all the charmers in Paris were there in the full bloom 
of their beauty; if the King promised him the prairie, and 
the Almighty gave him the Order of Paradise with the reve- 
nues of Purgatory, not one of all these powers would induce 
him to transfer a single straw from one saucer of his scales 
into the other. He is a judge, as Death is Death.” 

The two friends had reached the office of the Minister for 








THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 309 


Foreign Affairs, at the corner of the Boulevard des Capu- 
cines. 

“Here you are at home,” said Bianchon, laughing, as he 
pointed to the ministerial residence. “And here is my car- 
riage,” he added, calling a hackney cab. “And these—ex- 
press our fortune.” 

“You will be happy at the bottom of the sea, while I am 
still struggling with the tempests on the surface, till I sink 
and go to ask you for a corner in your grotto, old fellow!’ 

“Till Saturday,” replied Bianchon. 

“Agreed,” said Rastignac. “And you promise me Popi- 
mot’ 

“T will do all my conscience will allow. Perhaps this ap- 
peal for a commission covers some little dramorama, to use a 
word of our good bad times.” 

“Poor Bianchon! he will never be anything but a good fel- 
low,” said Rastignac to himself as the cab drove off. 


“Rastignac has given me the most difficult negotiation in 
the world,” said Bianchon to himself, remembering, as he 
rose next morning, the delicate commission intrusted to him. 
“However, I have never asked the smallest service from my 
uncle in Court, and have paid more than a thousand visits 
gratis for him. And, after all, we are not apt to mince mat- 
ters between ourselves. He will say Yes or No, and there an 
end.” 

After this little soliloquy the famous physician bent his 
steps, at seven in the morning, towards the Rue du Fouarre, 
where dwelt Monsieur Jean-Jules Popinot, judge of the 
Lower Court of the Department of the Seine. The Rue du 
Fouarre—an. old word meaning straw—was in the thirteenth 
century the most important street in Paris. There stood the 
Schools of the University, where the voices of Abelard and 
of Gerson were heard in the world of learning. It is now 
one of the dirtiest streets of the Twelfth Arrondissement, 
the poorest quarter of Paris, that in which two-thirds of the 
population lack firing in winter, which leaves most brats at 


310 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


the gate of the Foundling Hospital, which sends most beg- | 
gars to the poorhouse, most rag-pickers to the street corners, 
most decrepit old folks to bask against the walls on which 
the sun shines, most delinquents to the police courts. 

Half-way down this street, which is always damp, and where 
the gutter carries to the Seine the blackened waters from 
some dye-works, there is an old house, restored no doubt 
under Francis I., and built of bricks held together by a few 
courses of masonry. That it is substantial seems proved by 
the shape of its front wall, not uncommonly seen in some 
parts of Paris. It bellies, so to speak, in a manner caused 
by the protuberance of its first floor, crushed under the weight 
of the second and third, but upheld by the strong wall of the 
ground floor. At first sight it would seem as though the 
piers between the windows, though strengthened by the stone 
mullions, must give way; but the observer presently perceives 
that, as in the tower at Bologna, the old bricks and old time- 
eaten stones of this house persistently preserve their centre of 
gravity. 

At every season of the year the solid piers of the ground 
floor have the yellow tone and the imperceptible sweating sur- 
face that moisture gives to stone. The passer-by feels chilled 
as he walks close to this wall, where worn corner-stones in- 
effectually shelter him from the wheels of vehicles. As is 
always the case in houses built before carriages were in use, 
the vault of the doorway forms a very low archway not unlike 
the barbican of a prison. 'To the right of this entrance there 
are three windows, protected outside by iron gratings of so 
close a pattern, that the curious cannot possibly see the use 
made of the dark, damp rooms within, and the panes too 
are dirty and dusty; to the left are two similar windows, one 
of which is sometimes open, exposing to view the porter, 
his wife, and his children; swarming, working, cooking, eat- 
ing, and screaming, in a floored and wainscoted room where 
everything is dropping to pieces, and into which you descend 
two steps—a depth which seems to suggest the gradual eleva- 
tion of the soil of Paris. 





THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 311 


If on a rainy day some foot-passenger takes refuge under 
the long vault, with projecting lime-washed beams, which 
leads from the door to the staircase, he will hardly fail to 
pause and look at the picture presented by the interior of 
this house. To the left is a square garden-plot, allowing of not 
more than four long steps in each direction, a garden of black 
soil, with trellises bereft of vines, and where, in default of 
vegetation under the shade of two trees, papers collect, old 
rags, potsherds, bits of mortar fallen from the roof; a barren 
ground, where time has shed on the walls, and on the trunks 
and branches of the trees, a powdery deposit like cold soot. 
The two parts of the house, set at a right angle, derive light 
from this garden-court shut in by two adjoining houses built 
on wooden piers, decrepit and ready to fall, where on each 
floor some grotesque evidence is to be seen of the craft pur- 
sued by the lodger within. Here long poles are hung with 
immense skeins of dyed worsted put out to dry; there, on 
ropes, dance clean-washed shirts; higher up, on a shelf, vol- 
umes display their freshly marbled edges; women sing, hus- 
bands whistle, children shout; the carpenter saws his planks, 
a copper-turner makes the metal screech; all kinds of indus- 
tries combine to produce a noise which the number of instru- 
ments renders distracting. 

The general system of decoration in this passage, which is 
neither courtyard, garden, nor vaulted way, though a little 
of all, consists of wooden pillars resting on square stone 
blocks, and forming arches. Two archways open on to the 
little garden; two others, facing the front gateway, lead to a 
wooden staircase, with an iron balustrade that was once a 
miracle of smith’s work, so whimsical are the shapes given 
to the metal; the worn steps creak under every tread. The 
entrance to each flat has an architrave dark with dirt, grease, 
and dust, and outer doors, covered with Utrecht velvet set 
with brass nails, once gilt, in a diamond pattern. These relics 
of splendor show that in the time of Louis XIV. the house 
was the residence of some Councillor to the Parlement, some 
rich priests, or some treasurer of the ecclesiastical revenue. 


312 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


But these vestiges of former luxury bring a smile to the lips 
by the artless contrast of past and present. 

M. Jean-Jules Popinot lived on the first floor of this house, 
where the gloom, natural to all first floors in Paris houses, 
was increased by the narrowness of the street. This old 
tenement was known to all the twelfth arrondissement, on 
which Providence had bestowed this lawyer, as it gives a 
beneficent plant to cure or alleviate every malady. Here is a 
sketch of a man whom the brilliant Marquise d’Espard hoped 
to fascinate. 

M. Popinot, as is seemly for a magistrate, was always 
dressed in black—a style which contributed to make him 
ridiculous in the eyes of those who were in the habit of judg- 
ing everything from a superficial examination. Men who are 
jealous of maintaining the dignity required by this color 
ought to devote themselves to constant and minute care of 
their person; but our dear M. Popinot was incapable of fore- 
ing himself to the puritanical cleanliness which black de- 
mands. His trousers, always threadbare, looked like camlet 
—the stuff of which attorneys’ gowns are made; and his 
habitual stoop set them, in time, in such innumerable creases, 
that in places they were traced with lines, whitish, rusty, or 
shiny, betraying either sordid avarice, or the most unheeding 
poverty. His coarse worsted stockings were twisted anyhow 
in his ill-shaped shoes. His linen had the tawny tinge 
acquired by long sojourn in a wardrobe, showing that the late 
Jamented Madame Popinot had had a mania for much linen; 
in the Flemish fashion, perhaps, she had given herself the 
trouble of a great wash no more than twice a year. The old 
man’s coat and waistcoat were in harmony with his trousers, 
shoes, stockings, and linen. He always had the luck of his 
carelessness; for, the first day he put on a new coat, he un- 
failingly matched it with the rest of his costume by staining 
it with incredible promptitude. The good man waited till 
his housekeeper told him that his hat was too shabby before 
buying a new one. His necktie was always crumpled and 
_ starchless, and he never set his dog-eared shirt collar straight 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 3138 


after his judge’s bands had disordered it. He took no care of 
his gray hair, and shaved but twice a week. He never wore 
gloves, and generally kept his hands stuffed into his empty 
trousers’ pockets; the soiled pocket-holes, almost always torn, 
added a final touch to the slovenliness of his person. 

Any one who knows the Palais de Justice at Paris, where 
every variety of black attire may be studied, can easily 
imagine the appearance of M. Popinot. The habit of sitting 
for days at a time modifies the structure of the body, just as 
the fatigue of hearing interminable pleadings tells on the ex- 
pression of a magistrate’s face. Shut up as he is in courts 
ridiculously small, devoid of architectural dignity, and where 
the air is quickly vitiated, a Paris judge inevitably acquires 
a countenance puckered and seamed by reflection, and de- 
pressed by weariness; his complexion turns pallid, acquiring 
an earthy or greenish hue according to his individual tem- 
perament. In short, within a given time the most blooming 
young man is turned into an “inasmuch” machine—an in- 
strument which applies the Code to individual cases with the 
indifference of clockwork. ‘ 

Hence, nature having bestowed on M. Popinot a not too 
pleasing exterior, his life as a lawyer had not improved it. 
His frame was graceless and angular. His thick knees, huge 
feet, and broad hands formed a contrast with a priest-like 
face having a vague resemblance to a calf’s head, meek to 
unmeaningness, and but little brightened by divergent, 
bloodless eyes, divided by a straight flat nose, surmounted by 
a flat forehead, flanked by enormous ears, flabby and grace- 
less. His thin, weak hair showed the baldness through 
various irregular partings. 

One feature only commended this face to the physiog- 
nomist. This man had a mouth to whose lips divine kind- 
ness lent its sweetness. They were wholesome, full, red lips, 
finely wrinkled, sinuous, mobile, by which nature had given 
expression to noble feelings; lips which spoke to the heart 
and proclaimed the man’s intelligence and lucidity, a gift 
of second-sight, and a heavenly temper; and you would have 


314 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


judged him wrongly from looking merely at his sloping fore- 
head, his fireless eyes, and his shambling gait. His life an- 
swered to his countenance; it was full of secret labor, and 
hid the virtue of a saint. His superior knowledge of law 
proved so strong a recommendation at the time when Na- 
poleon was reorganizing it in 1808 and 1811, that, by the 
advice of Cambacérés, he was one of the first men named to 
sit on the Imperial High Court of Justice at Paris. Popi- 
not was no schemer. Whenever any demand was made, any 
request preferred for an appointment, the Minister would 
overlook Popinot, who never set foot in the house of the 
High Chancellor or the Chief Justice. From the High Court 
he was sent down to the Common Court, and pushed to the 
lowest rung of the ladder by active struggling men. There - 
he was appointed supernumerary judge. ‘There was a general 
outcry among the lawyers: “Popinot a supernumerary !” 
Such injustice struck the legal world with dismay—the at- 
torneys, the registrars, everybody but Popinot himself, who 
made no complaint. The first clamor over, everybody was 
satisfied that all was forthe best in the best of all possible 
worlds, which must certainly be the legal world. Popinot 
sien supernumerary judge till the day when the most 
famous Great Seal under the Restoration avenged the over- 
sights heaped on this modest and uncomplaining man by the 
Chief Justices of the Empire. After being a supernumerary 
for twelve years, M. Popinot would no doubt die a puisne 
judge of the Court of the Seine. 

To account for the obscure fortunes of one of the superior 
men of the legal profession, it is necessary to enter here into 
some details which will serve to reveal his life and character, 
and which will, at the same time, display some of the wheels 
of the great machine known as Justice. M. Popinot was 
classed by the three Presidents who successively controlled 
the Court of the Seine under the category of possible judges, 
the stuff of which judges are made. Thus classified, he did 
not achieve the reputation for capacity which his previous 
labors had deserved. Just as a painter is invariably included 








THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 315 


in a category as a landscape painter, a portrait painter, a 
painter of history, of sea pieces, or of genre, by a public con- 
sisting of artists, connoisseurs, and simpletons, who, out of 
envy, or critical omnipotence, or prejudice, fence in his in- 
tellect, assuming, one and all, that there are ganglions in 
every brain—a narrow judgment which the world applies to 
writers, to statesmen, to everybody who begins with some 
specialty before being hailed as omniscient; so Popinot’s 
fate was sealed, and he was hedged round to do a particular 
kind of work. Magistrates, attorneys, pleaders, all who past- 
ure on the legal common, distinguish two elements in every 
case—law and equity. Equity is the outcome of facts, law 
is the application of principles to facts. A man may be right 
in equity but wrong in law, without any blame to the judge. 
Between his conscience and the facts there is a whole gulf 
of determining reasons unknown to the judge, but which con- 
demn or legitimatize the act. A judge is not God; his duty 
is to adapt facts to principles, to judge cases of infinite va- 
riety while measuring them by a fixed standard. 

France employs about six thousand judges; no generation 
has six thousand great men at her command, much less can 
she find them in the legal profession. Popinot, in the midst 
of the civilization of Paris, was just a very clever cadi, who, 
by the character of his mind, and by dint of rubbing the 
letter of the law into the essence of facts, had learned to see 
the error of spontaneous and violent decisions. By the help 
of his judicial second-sight he could pierce the double casing 
of lies in which advocates hide the heart of a trial. He was 
a judge, as the great Desplein was a surgeon; he probed men’s 
consciences as the anatomist probed their bodies. His life 
and habits had led him to an exact appreciation of their most 
secret thoughts by a thorough study of facts. 

He sifted a case as Cuvier sifted the earth’s crust. Like 
that great thinker, he proceeded from deduction to deduction 
before drawing his conclusions, and reconstructed the 
past career of a conscience as Cuvier reconstructed an Ano- 
plotherium. When considering a brief he would often wake 


316 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


in the night, startled by a gleam of truth suddenly sparkling 
in his brain. Struck by the deep injustice, which is the end 
of these contests, in which everything is against the honest 
man, everything to the advantage of the rogue, he often 
summed up in favor of equity against law in such cases as 
bore on questions of what may be termed divination. Hence 
he was regarded by his colleagues as a man not of a practical 
mind; his arguments on two lines of deduction made their 
deliberations lengthy. When Popinot observed their dislike 
to listening to him he gave his opinion briefly; it was said 
that he was not a good judge in this class of cases; but as his 
sift of discrimination was remarkable, his opinion lucid, and 
his penetration profound, he was considered to have a special 
aptitude for the laborious duties of an examining judge. So 
an examining judge he remained during the greater part of 
his legal career. 

Although his qualifications made him eminently fitted for 
its difficult functions, and he had the reputation of being so 
learned in criminal law that his duty was a pleasure to him, 
the kindness of his heart constantly kept him in torture, and 
he was nipped as in a vise between his conscience and his pity. 
The services of an examining judge are better paid than those 
of a judge in civil actions, but they do not therefore prove a 
temptation; they are too onerous. Popinot, a man of modest 
and virtuous learning, without ambition, an indefatigable 
worker, never complained of his fate; he sacrificed his tastes 
and his compassionate soul to the public good,and allowed him- 
self to be transported to the noisome pools of criminal examina- 
tions, where he showed himself alike severe and beneficent. His 
clerk sometimes would give the accused some money to buy 
tobacco, or a warm winter garment, as he led him back from 
the judge’s office to the Sourictére, the mouse-trap—the 
House of Detention where the accused are kept under the 
orders of the Examining Judge. He knew how to be an in- 
flexible judge and a charitable man. And no one extracted 
a confession so easily as he without having recourse to judicial 
trickery. He had, too, all the acumen of an observer. This 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 317 


man, apparently so foolishly good-natured, simple, and ab- 
sent-minded, could guess all the cunning of a prison wag, 
unmask the astutest street huzzy, and subdue a scoundrel. 
Unusual circumstances had sharpened his perspicacity; but 
to relate these we must intrude on his domestic history, for 
in him the judge was the social side of the man; another 
man, greater and less known, existed within. 

Twelve years before the beginning of this story, in 1816, 
during the terrible scarcity which coincided disastrously with 
the stay in France of the so-called Allies, Popinot was ap- 
pointed President of the Commission Extraordinary formed 
to distribute food to the poor of his neighborhood, just when 
he had planned to move from the Rue du Fouarre, which he 
as little liked to live in as his wife did. The great lawyer, 
the clear-sighted criminal judge, whose superiority seemed to 
his colleagues a form of aberration, had for five years been 
watching legal results without seeing their causes. As he 
scrambled up into lofts, as he saw the poverty, as he studied 
the desperate necessities which gradually bring the poor to 
criminal acts, as he estimated their long struggles, compas- 
sion filled his soul The judge then became the Saint Vincent 
de Paul of these grown-up children, these suffering toilers. 
The transformation was not immediately complete. Benefi- 
cence has its temptations as vice has. Charity consumes a 
saint’s purse, as roulette consumes the possessions of a gam- 
bler, quite gradually. Popinot went from misery to misery, 
from charity to charity; then, by the time he had lifted 
all the rags which cover public pauperism, like a bandage 
under which an inflamed wound lies festering, at the end 
of a year he had become the Providence incarnate of that 
quarter of the town. He was a member of the Benevolent 
Committee and of the Charity Organization. Wherever any 
gratuitous services were needed he was ready, and did every- 
thing without fuss, like the man with the short cloak, who 
spends his life in carrying soup round the markets and other 
places where there are starving folks. 

Popinot was fortunate in acting on a larger circle and in 


318 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


a higher sphere; he had an eye on everything, he prevented 
crime, he gave work to the unemployed, he found a refuge 
for the helpless, he distributed aid with discernment wherever 
danger threatened, he made himself the counselor of the 
widow, the protector of homeless children, the sleeping part- 
ner of small traders. No one at the Courts, no one in Paris, 
knew of this secret life of Popinot’s. There are virtues so 
splendid that they necessitate obscurity; men make haste to 
hide them under a bushel. As to those whom the lawyer suc- 
cored, they, hard at work all day and tired at night, were 
little able to sing his praises; theirs was the gracelessness of 
children, who can never pay because they owe too much. 
There is such compulsory ingratitude; but what heart that 
has sown good to reap gratitude can think itself great? 

By the end of the second year of his apostolic work, Popi- 
not had turned the storeroom at the bottom of his house into 
a parlor, lighted by the three iron-barred windows. ‘The 
walls and ceiling of this spacious room were whitewashed, 
and the furniture consisted of wooden benches like those seen 
in schools, a clumsy cupboard, a walnut-wood writing-table, 
and an armchair. In the cupboard were his registers of 
donations, his tickets for orders for bread, and his diary. He 
kept his ledger like a tradesman, that he might not be ruined 
by kindness. All the sorrows of the neighborhood were en- 
tered and numbered in a book, where each had its little ac- 
count, as merchants’ customers have theirs. When there was 
any question as to a man or a family needing help, the law- 
yer could always command information from the police. 

Lavienne, a man made for his master, was his aide-de- 
camp. He redeemed or renewed pawn-tickets, and visited the 
districts most threatened with famine, while his master was 
in court. 

From four till seven in the morning in summer, from six 
till nine in winter, this room was full of women, children, 
and paupers, while Popinot gave audience. There was no 
need for a stove in winter; the crowd was so dense that the 
air was warmed; only, Lavienne strewed straw on the wet 





THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 319 


floor. By long use the benches were as polished as varnished 
mahogany; at the height of a man’s shoulders the wall had 
a coat of dark, indescribable color, given to it by the rags and 
tattered clothes of these poor creatures. ‘The poor wretches 
loved Popinot so well that when they assembled before his 
door was opened, before daybreak on a winter’s morning, the 
women warming themselves with their foot-brasiers, the men 
swinging their arms for circulation, never a sound had dis- 
turbed his sleep. Rag-pickers and other toilers of the night 
knew the house, and often saw a light burning in the lawyer’s 
private room at unholy hours. Even thieves, as they passed 
by, said, “That is his house,’ and respected it. The morning 
he gave to the poor, the mid-day hours to criminals, the even- 
ing to law work. 

Thus the gift of observation that characterized Popinot 
was necessarily bifrons ; he could guess the virtues of a pauper 
—good feelings nipped, fine actions in embryo, unrecognized 
self-sacrifice, just as he could read at the bottom of a man’s 
conscience the faintest outlines of a crime, the slenderest 
threads of wrongdoing, and infer all the rest. 

Popinot’s inherited fortune was a thousand crowns a year. 
His wife, sister to M. Bianchon sensor, a doctor at Sancerre, 
had brought him about twice as much. She, dying five years 
since, had left her fortune to her husband. As the salary of 
a supernumerary judge is not large, and Popinot had been a 
fully salaried judge only for four years, we may guess his rea- 
sons for parsimony in all that concerned his person and mode 
of life, when we consider how small his means were and how 
great his beneficence. Besides, is not such indifference to 
dress as stamped Popinot an absent-minded man, a distin- 
guishing mark of scientific attainment, of art passionately 
_ pursued, of a perpetually active mind? To complete this 
portrait, it will be enough to add that Popinot was one of 
the few judges of the Court of the Seine on whom the rib- 
bon of the Legion of Honor had not been conferred. 

Such was the man who had been instructed by the Presi- 
dent of the Second Chamber of the Court—to which Popinot 


320 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


had belonged since his reinstatement among the judges in 
civil law—to examine the Marquis d’Espard at the request of 
his wife, who sued for a Commission in Lunacy. 

The Rue du Fouarre, where so many unhappy wretches 
swarmed in the early morning, would be deserted by nine 
o’clock, and as gloomy and squalid as ever. Bianchon put 
his horse to a trot in order to find his uncle in the midst of 
his business. It was not without a smile that he thought of 
the curious contrast the judge’s appearance would make in 
Madame d’Espard’s room; but he promised himself that he 
would persuade him to dress in a way that should not be too 
ridiculous. 

“If only my uncle happens to have a new coat!” said 
Bianchon to himself, as he turned into the Rue du Fouarre, 
where a pale light shone from the parlor windows. “TI shall 
do well, I believe, to talk that over with Lavienne.” 

At the sound of wheels half a score of startled paupers 
came out from under the gateway, and took off their hats 
on recognizing Bianchon; for the doctor, who treated gra- 
tuitously the sick recommended to him by the lawyer, was 
not less well known than he to the poor creatures assembled 
there. 

Bianchon found his uncle in the middle of the parlor, 
where the benches were occupied by patients presenting such 
grotesque singularities of costume as would have made the 
least artistic passer-by turn round to gaze at them. A 
draughtsman—a Rembrandt, if there were one in our day— 
might have conceived of one of his finest compositions from 
seeing these children of misery, in artless attitudes, and all 
silent. 

Here was the rugged countenance of an old man with a 
white beard and an apostolic head—a Saint Peter ready to 
hand; his chest, partly uncovered, showed salient muscles, 
the evidence of an iron constitution which had served him 
as a fulerum to resist a whole poem of sorrows. There a 
young woman was suckling her youngest-born to keep it from 
crying, while another of about five stood between her knees. 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 321 


Her white bosom, gleaming amid rags, the baby with its 
transparent flesh-tints, and the brother, whose attitude prom- 
ised a street arab in the future, toucled the fancy with pathos 
by its almost graceful contrast with the long row of faces 
crimson with cold, in the midst of which sat this family 
group. Further away, an old woman, pale and rigid, had the 
repulsive look of rebellious pauperism, eager to avenge all 
its past woes in one day of violence. 

There, again, was the young workman, weakly and in- 
dolent, whose brightly intelligent eye revealed fine faculties 
crushed by necessity struggled with in vain, saying nothing 
of his sufferings, and nearly dead for lack of an opportunity 
to squeeze between the bars of the vast stews where the 
wretched swim round and round and devour each other. 

The majority were women; their husbands, gone to their 
work, left it to them, no doubt, to plead the cause of the 
family with the ingenuity which characterizes the woman of 
the people, who is almost always queen in her hovel. You 
would have seen a torn bandana on every head, on every form 
a skirt deep in mud, ragged kerchiefs, worn and dirty jackets, 
but eyes that burnt like live coals. It was a horrible assem- 
blage, raising at first sight a feeling of disgust, but giving 
a certain sense of terror the instant you perceived that the 
resignation of these souls, all engaged in the struggle for 
every necessary of life, was purely fortuitous, a speculation 
on benevolence. The two tallow candles which lighted the 
_ parlor flickered in a sort of fog caused by the fetid atmos- 
phere of the ill-ventilated room. 

The magistrate himself was not the least picturesque figure 
in the midst of this assembly. He had on his head a rusty 
cotton night-cap; as he had no cravat, his neck was visible, 
red with cold and wrinkled, in contrast with the threadbare 
collar of his old dressing-gown. His worn face had the half- 
stupid look that comes of absorbed attention. His lips, like 
those of all men who work, were puckered up like a bag with 
the strings drawn tight. His knitted brows seemed to bear 
the burden of all the sorrows confided to him: he felt, 


322 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


analyzed, and judged them all. As watchful as a Jew money- 
lender, he never raised his eyes from his books and regis- 
ters but to look into the very heart of the persons he was 
examining, with the flashing glance by which a miser ex- 
presses his alarm. 

Lavienne, standing behind his master, ready to carry out 
his orders, served no doubt as a sort of police, and welcomed 
newcomers by encouraging them to get over their shyness. 
When the doctor appeared there was a stir on the benches. 
Lavienne turned his head, and was strangely surprised to see 
Bianchon. 

“Ah! It is you, old boy!” exclaimed Popinot, stretching 
himself. “What brings you so early?” 

“T was afraid lest you should make an official visit about 
which I wish to speak to you before I could see you.” 

“Well,” said the lawyer, addressing a stout little woman 
who was still standing close to him, “if you do not tell me 
what it is you want, I cannot guess it, child.” 

“Make haste,” said Lavienne. “Do not waste other people’s 
time.” ; 

“Monsieur,” said the woman at last, turning red, and 
speaking so low as only to be heard by Popinot and Lavienne, 
“T have a green-grocery truck, and I have my last baby out at 
nurse, and I owe for his keep. Well, I had hidden my little 
bit of money it 

“Yes; and your man took it?” said Popinot, guessing the 
sequel. | 

SY CB s0SLIi 

“What is your name?” 

“Ta Pomponne.” 

“And your husband’s ?” 

“Toupinet.” 

“Rue du Petit-Banquier?” said Popinot, turning over his 
register. “He is in prison,” he added, reading a note at the 
margin of the section in which this family was described. 

“Hor debt, my kind monsieur.” 

Popinot shook his head. 








THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 323 


“But I have nothing to buy any stock for my truck; the 
landlord came yesterday and made me pay up; otherwise I 
should have been turned out.” 

Lavienne bent over his master, and whispered in his ear. 

“Well, how much do you want to buy fruit in the mar- 
ket re 

“Why, my good monsieur, to carry on my business, I should 
want—Yes, I should certainly want ten francs.” 

Popinot signed to Lavienne, who took ten francs out of 
a large bag, and handed them to the woman, while the law- 
yer made a note of the loan in his ledger. As he saw the 
thrill of delight that made the poor hawker tremble, Bian- 
chon understood the apprehensions that must have agitated 
her on her way to the lawyer’s house. 

“You next,” said Lavienne to the old man with the white 
beard. 

Bianchon drew the servant aside, and asked him how long 
this audience would last. 

“Monsieur has had two hundred persons this morning, and 
there are eighty to be turned off,” said Lavienne. “You will 
have time to pay your early visit, sir.” 

“Here, my boy,” said the lawyer, turning round and taking 
Horace by the arm; “here are two addresses near this—one 
in the Rue de Seine, and the other in the Rue de l’Arbaléte. 
Go there at once. Rue de Seine, a young girl has just 
asphyxiated herself; and Rue de l’Arbaléte, you will find a 
man to remove to your hospital. I will wait breakfast for 
you.” 

Bianchon returned an hour later. The Rue du Fouarre 
was deserted; day was beginning to dawn there; his uncle 
had gone up to his rooms; the last poor wretch whose misery 
the judge had relieved was departing, and Lavienne’s money 
bag was empty. 

“Well, how are they going on?” asked the old lawyer, as 
the doctor came in. © 

“The man is dead,” replied Bianchon; “the girl will get 
over it.” , 


324 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


Since the eye and hand of a woman had been lacking, the 
flat in which Popinot lived had assumed an aspect in har- 
mony with its master’s. The indifference of a man who is 
absorbed in one dominant idea had set its stamp of eccen- 
tricity on everything. Everywhere lay unconquerable dust, 
every object was adapted to a wrong purpose with a per- 
tinacity suggestive of a bachelor’s home. ‘There were papers 
in the flower vases, empty ink-bottles on the tables, plates 
that had been forgotten, matches used as tapers for a minute 
when something had to be found, drawers or boxes half- 
turned out and left unfinished; in short, all the confusion 
and vacancies resulting from plans for order never carried 
out. The lawyer’s private room, especially disordered by this 
incessant rummage, bore witness to his unresting pace, the 
hurry of a man overwhelmed with business, hunted by contra- 
dictory necessities. ‘The bookcase looked as if it had been 
sacked; there were books scattered over everything, some 
piled up open, one on another, others on the floor face down- 
wards; registers of proceedings laid on the floor in rows, 
lengthwise, in front of the shelves; and that floor had not 
been polished for two years. 

The tables and shelves were covered with ex votos, the of- 
ferings of the grateful poor. On a pair of blue glass jars 
which ornamented the chimney-shelf there were two glass 
balls, of which the core was made up of many-colored frag- 
ments, giving them the appearance of some singular natural 
product. Against the wall hung frames of artificial flowers, 
and decorations in which Popinot’s initials were surrounded 
by hearts and everlasting flowers. Here were boxes of 
elaborate and useless cabinet work; there letter-weights 
carved in the style of work done by convicts in penal servi- 
tude. ‘These’ masterpieces of patience, enigmas of gratitude, 
and withered bouquets gave the lawyer’s room the appearance 
of a toyshop. The good man used these works of art as hid- 
ing-places which he filled with bills, worn-out pens, and 
scraps of paper. All these pathetic witnesses to his divine 
charity were thick with dust, dingy, and faded. 





THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 325 


Some birds, beautifully stuffed, but eaten by moth, perched 
in this wilderness of trumpery, presided over by an Angora 
cat, Madame Popinot’s pet, restored to her no doubt with all 
the graces of life by some impecunious naturalist, who thus 
repaid a gift of charity with a perennial treasure. Some local 
artist whose heart had misguided his brush had painted por- 
traits of M. and Madame Popinot. Even in the bedroom 
there were embroidered pin-cushions, landscapes in cross- 
stitch, and crosses in folded paper, so elaborately cockled as 
to show the senseless labor they had cost. 

The window-curtains were black with smoke, and the hang- 
ings absolutely colorless. Between the fireplace and the 
large square table at which the magistrate worked, the cook 
had set two cups of coffee on a small table, and two armchairs, 
in mahogany and horsehair, awaited the uncle and nephew. 
As daylight, darkened by the windows, could not penetrate 
to this corner, the cook had left two dips burning, whose un- 
snuffed wicks showed a sort of mushroom growth, giving the 
red light which promises length of life to the candle from 
slowness of combustion—a discovery due to some miser. 

“My dear uncle, you ought to wrap yourself more warmly 
when you go down to that parlor.” 

“T cannot bear to keep them waiting, poor souls !—Well, 
and what do you want of me?” 

“T have come to ask to you to dine to-morrow with the Mar- 
quise d’Espard.” 

“A relation of ours?” asked Popinot, with such genuine 
absence of mind that Bianchon laughed. 

“No, uncle; the Marquise d’Espard is a high and puissant 
lady, who has laid before the Courts a petition desiring that 
a Commission in Lunacy should sit on her husband, and 
you are appointed” | 

“And you want me to dine with her! Are you mad?” said 
the lawyer, taking up the code of proceedings. “Here, only 
read this article, prohibiting any magistrate’s eating or drink- 
ing in the house of either of two parties whom he is called 
upon to decide between. Let her come and see me, your Mar- 


326 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


quise, if she has anything to say to me. I was, in fact, to go 


to examine her husband to-morrow, after working the case 


up to-night.” 

He rose, took up a packet of papers that lay under a weight 
where he could see it, and after reading the title, he said: 

“Here is the affidavit. Since you take an interest in this 
high and puissant lady, let us see what she wants.” 

Popinot wrapped his dressing-gown across his body, from 
which it was constantly slipping and leaving his chest bare; 
he sopped his bread in the half-cold coffee, and opened the 
petition, which he read, allowing himself to throw in a paren- 
thesis now and then, and some discussions, in which his 
nephew took part :— 

“<To Monsieur the President of the Civil Tribunal of the 
Lower Court of the Department of the Seine, sitting at the 
Palais de Justice. f 

““Madame Jeanne Clémentine Athénais de Blamont- 
Chauvry, wife of M. Charles Maurice Marie Andoche, Comte 
de Négrepelisse, Marquis d’Espard’—a very good family— 
‘landowner, the said Mme. d’Espard living in the Rue du 
Faubourg Saint-Honoré, No. 104, and the said M. d’Espard 
in the Rue de la Montagne-Sainte-Geneviéve, No. 22,’—to 
be sure, the President told me he lived in this part of the 
town—‘having for her solicitor Maitre Desroches’—Des- 
roches! a pettifogging jobber, a man looked down upon by 
his brother lawyers, and who does his clients no good ip 

“Poor fellow!” said Bianchon, “unluckily he has no money, 
and he rushes round like the devil in holy water—That is 
all.” 

“Has the honor to submit to you, Monsieur the President, 
that. for a year past the moral and intellectual powers of her 
husband, M. d’Espard, have undergone so serious a change, 
that at the present day they have reached the state of de- 
mentia and idiocy provided for by Article 448 of the Civil 
Code, and require the application of the remedies set forth 
by that article, for the security of his fortune and his person, 
and to guard the interest of his children whom he keeps to 
live with him. 





THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 327 


“«<Mhat, in point of fact, the mental condition of M. 
d’Espard, which for some years has given grounds for alarm 
based on the system he has pursued in the management of his 
affairs, has reached, during the last twelvemonth, a deplor- 
able depth of depression; that his infirm will was the first 
thing to show the results of the malady; and that its effete 
state leaves M. the Marquis d’Hspard exposed to all the perils 
of his incompetency, as is proved by the following facts: 

“<“For a long time all the income accruing from M. 
d’Espard’s estates are paid, without any reasonable cause, 
or even temporary advantage, into the hands of an old woman, 
whose repulsive ugliness is generally remarked on, named 
Madame Jeanrenaud, living sometimes in Paris, Rue de la 
Vrilliére, No. 8, sometimes at Villeparisis, near Claye, in the 
Department of Seine et Marne, and for the benefit of her 
son, aged tnirty-six, an officer in the ex-Imperial Guards, 
whom the Marquis d’Espard has placed by his influence in 
the King’s Guards, as Major in the First Regiment of 
Cuirassiers. These two persons, who in 1814 were in extreme 
poverty, have since then purchased house-property of con- 
siderable value; among other items, quite recently, a large 
house in the Grande Rue Verte, where the said Jeanrenaud 
is laying out considerable sums in order to settle there with 
the woman Jeanrenaud, intending to marry; these sums 
amount already to more than a hundred thousand francs. 
The marriage has been arranged by the intervention of M. 
d’Espard with his banker, one Mongenod, whose niece he has 
asked in marriage for the said Jeanrenaud, promising to 
use his influence to procure him the title and dignity of 
Baron. This has in fact been secured by His Majesty’s letters 
patent, dated December 29th of last year, at the request of the 
Marquis d’Espard, as can be proved by His Excellency the 
Keeper of the Seals, if the Court should think proper to re- 
quire his testimony. 

“That no reason, not even such as morality and the law 
would concur in disapproving, can justify the influence which 
the said Mme. Jeanrenaud exerts over M. d’Hspard, who, 


328 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


indeed, sees her very seldom; nor account for his strange af- 
fection for the said Baron Jeanrenaud, Major, with whom he 
has but little intercourse. And yet their power is so con- 
siderable, that whenever they need money, if only to gratify 
a mere whim, this lady, or her son > Heh, heh! no reason 
even such as morality and the law concur in disapproving ! 
What does the clerk or the attorney mean to insinuate?” said 
Popinot. 

Bianchon laughed. 

“<This lady, or her son, obtain whatever they ask of the 
Marquis d’Espard without demur; and if he has not ready 
money, M. d’Espard draws bills to be paid by the said Mon- 
genod, who has offered to give evidence to that effect for the 
petitioner. . 

“<That, moreover, in further proof of these facts, lately, 
on the occasion of the renewal of the leases on the Espard 
estate, the farmers having paid a considerable premium for 
the renewal of their leases on the old terms, M. Jeanrenaud 
at once secured the payment of it into his own hands. 

“<That the Marquis d’Espard parts with these sums of 
money so little of his own free-will, that when he was spoken 
to on the subject he seemed to remember nothing of the 
matter; that whenever anybody of any weight has questioned 
him as to his devotion to these two persons, his replies have 
shown so complete an absence of ideas and of sense of his own 
interests, that there obviously must be some occult cause at 
work to which the petitioner begs to direct the eye of justice, 
inasmuch as it is impossible but that this cause should be 
criminal, malignant, and wrongful, or else of a nature to 
come under medical jurisdiction; unless this influence is 
of the kind which constitutes an abuse of moral power—such 
as can only be described by the word possession > The 
devil!” exclaimed Popinot. “What do you say to that, doc- 
tor? ‘These are strange statements.” 

“They might certainly,” said Bianchon, “be an effect of 
magnetic force.” 

“Then do you believe in Mesmer’s nonsense, and his tub, 
and seeing through walls?” 








THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 329 


“Yes, uncle,” said the doctor gravely. “As I heard you 
read that petition I thought of that. I assure you that I have 
verified, in another sphere of action, several analogous facts 
proving the unlimited influence one man may acquire over 
another. In contradiction to the opinion of my brethren, I 
am perfectly convinced of the power of the will regarded as 
a motor force. All collusion and charlatanism apart, I have 
seen the results of such a possession. Actions promised dur- 
ing sleep by a magnetized patient to the magnetizer have been 
scrupulously performed on waking. The will of one had be- 
come the will of the other.” 

“very kind of action?” 

oY ag.?? 

“Even a criminal act?” 

“Hiven a crime.” 

“Tf it were not from you, I would not listen to such a 
thing.” 

“T will make you witness it,” said Bianchon. 

“Hm, hm,” muttered the lawyer. “But supposing that this 
so-called possession fell under this class of facts, it would be 
difficult to prove it as legal evidence.” 

“If this woman Jeanrenaud is so hideously old and ugly, 
I do not see what other means of fascination she can have 
used,” observed Bianchon. 

“But,” observed the lawyer, “in 1814, the time at which 
this fascination is supposed to have taken place, this woman 
was fourteen’ years younger; if she had been connected with 
M. d’Espard ten years before that, these calculations take us 
back four-and-twenty years, to a time when the lady may 
have been young and pretty, and have won for herself and 
her son a power over M. d’Espard which some men do not 
know how to evade. Though the source of this power is 
reprehensible in the sight of justice, it is justifiable in the eye 
of nature. Madame Jeanrenaud may have been aggrieved 
by the marriage, contracted probably at about that time, be- 
tween the Marquis d’Espard and Mademoiselle de Blamont- 
Chauvry, and at the bottom of all this there may be nothing 


330 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


more than the rivalry of two women, since the Marquis has 
for a long time lived apart from Mme. d’Espard.” 

“But her repulsive ugliness, uncle ?” 

“Power of fascination is in direct proportion to ugliness,” 
said the lawyer; “that is an old story. And then think of the 
smallpox, doctor. But to proceed. 

“<That so long ago as in 1815, in order to supply the sums 
of money required by these two persons, the Marquis d’Espard 
went with his two children to live in the Rue de la Montagne- 
Sainte=Geneviéve, in rooms quite unworthy of his name and 
rank’—well, we may live as we please—‘that he keeps his 
two children there, the Comte Clément d’Espard and 
Vicomte Camille d’Espard, in a style of living quite unsuited 
to their future prospects, their name and fortune; that he ~ 
often wants money, to such a point, that not long since the — 
landlord, one Mariast, put in an execution on the furniture 
in the rooms; that when this execution was carried out in 
his presence, the Marquis d’Espard helped the bailiff, whom 
he treated like a man of rank, paying him all the marks of 
attention and respect which he would have shown to a person 
of superior birth and dignity to himself.’” 

The uncle and nephew glanced at each other and laughed. 

“<That, moreover, every act of his life, besides the facts 
with reference to the widow Jeanrenaud and the Baron Jean- 
renaud, her son, are those of a madman; that for nearly ten 
years he has given his thoughts exclusively to China, its 
customs, manners, and history; that he refers everything to 
a Chinese origin; that when he is questioned on the subject, 
he confuses the events of the day and the business of yester- 
day with facts relating to China; that he censures the acts 
of the Government and the conduct of the King, though he 
is personally much attached to him, by comparing them with 
the politics of China; 

“That this monomania has driven the Marquis d’Espard 
to conduct devoid of all sense: against the customs of men 
of rank, and, in opposition to his own professed ideas as to 
the duties of the nobility, he has joined a commercial under- 


s 
THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY B31 


taking, for which he constantly draws bills which, as they 
fall due, threaten both his honor and his fortune, since they 
stamp him as a trader, and in default of payment may lead 
to his being declared insolvent; that these debts, which are 
owing to stationers, printers, lithographers, and print-color- 
ists, who have supplied the materials for his publication, 
called A Picturesque History of China, now coming out in 
parts, are so heavy that these tradesmen have requested the 
petitioner to apply for a Commission in Lunacy with regard 
to the Marquis d’Espard in order to save their own credit.’ ” 

“The man is mad!” exclaimed Bianchon. 

“You think so, do you?” said his uncle. “If you listen to 
only one bell, you hear only one sound.” 

“But it seems to me said Bianchon. 

“But it seems to me,” said Popinot, “that if any relation 
of mine wanted to get hold of the management of my affairs, 
and if, instead of being a humble lawyer, whose colleagues 
can, any day, verify what this condition is, I were a duke 
of the realm, an attorney with a little cunning, like 
Desroches, might bring just such a petition against me. 

“<That his children’s education has been neglected for this 
monomania; and that he has taught them, against all the 
rules of education, the facts of Chinese history, which con- 
tradict the tenets of the Catholic Church. He also has them 
taught the Chinese dialects.’ ” 

“Here Desroches strikes me as funny,” said Bianchon. 

“The petition is drawn up by his head-clerk Godeschal, 
who, as you know, is not strong in Chinese,” said the lawyer. 

“That he often leaves his children destitute of the most 
necessary things; that the petitioner, notwithstanding her en- 
treaties, can never see them; that the said Marquis d’Espard 
brings them to her only once a year; that, knowing the 
privations to which they are exposed, she makes vain efforts 
to give them the things most necessary for their existence, 
and which they require > Oh! Madame la Marquise, this 
is preposterous. By proving too much you prove nothing.— 
My dear boy,” said the old man, laying the document on his 








Boz THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


knee, “where is the mother who ever lacked heart and wit 
and yearning to such a degree as to fall below the inspirations 
suggested by her animal instinct? A mother is as cunning 
to get at her children as a girl can be in the conduct of a 
love intrigue. If your Marquise really wanted to give her 
children food and clothes, the Devil himself would not have 
hindered her, heh? That is rather too big a fable for an old 
lawyer to swallow !—T'o proceed. 

“<That at the age the said children have now attained it 
is necessary that steps should be taken to preserve them from 
the evil effects of such an education; that they should be 
provided for as beseems their rank, and that they should 
cease to have before their eyes the sad example of their 
father’s conduct ; 

“<“That there are proofs in support of these allegations 
which the Court can easily order to be produced. Many times 
has M. d’Espard spoken of the judge of the Twelfth Arron- 
dissement as a mandarin of the third class; he often speaks 
of the professors of the Collége Henri IV. as “men of let- 
ters” ’"—and that offends them! ‘In speaking of the simplest 
things, he says, “They were not done so in China;” in the 
course of the most ordinary conversation he will sometimes 
allude to Madame Jeanrenaud, or sometimes to events which 
happened in the time of Louis XIV., and then sit plunged 
in the darkest melancholy; sometimes he fancies he is in 
China. Several of his neighbors, among others one Edmé 
Becker, medical student, and Jean Baptiste Frémiot, a pro- 
fessor, living under the same roof, are of opinion, after fre- 
quent intercourse with the Marquis d’Espard, that his mono- 
mania with regard to everything Chinese is the result of a 
scheme laid by the said Baron Jeanrenaud and the widow his 
mother to bring about the deadening of all the Marquis 
d’Espard’s mental faculties, since the only service which 
Mme. Jeanrenaud appears to render M. d’Espard is to pro- 
cure him everything that relates to the Chinese Empire; 

“Finally, that the petitioner is prepared to show to the 
Court that the moneys absorbed by the said Baron and Mme, 





THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 333 


Jeanrenaud between 1814 and 1828 amount to not less than 
one million francs. 

“In confirmation of the facts herein set forth, the peti- 
tioner can bring the evidence of persons who are in the habit 
of seeing the Marquis d’Espard, whose names and _ profes- 
sions are subjoined, many of whom have urged her to de- 
mand a commission in hunacy to declare M. d’Espard in- 
capable of managing his own affairs, as being the only way 
to preserve his fortune from the effects of his maladministra- 
tion and his children from his fatal influence. 

“<Taking all this into consideration, M. le Président, and 
the affidavits subjoined, the petitioner desires that it may 
please you, inasmuch as the foregoing facts sufficiently prove 
the insanity and incompetency of the Marquis d’Espard 
herein described with his titles and residence, to order that, 
to the end that he may be declared incompetent by law, this 
petition and the documents in evidence may be laid before 
the King’s public prosecutor; and that you will charge one 
of the judges of this Court to make his report to you on any 
day you may be pleased to name, and thereupon to pro- 
nounce judgment,’ etc. 

“And here,” said Popinot, “is the President’s order in- 
structing me !—Well, what does the Marquise d’Espard want 
with me? I know everything. But I shall go to-morrow 
with my registrar to see M. le Marquis, for this does. not seem 
at all clear to me.” 

“Listen, my dear uncle, I have never asked the least little 
favor of you that had to do with your legal functions; well, 
now I beg you to show Madame d’Hspard the kindness which 
her situation deserves. If she came here, you would listen to 
her ?” 

“Yas.” 

“Well, then, go and listen to her in her own house. 
Madame d’Espard is a sickly, nervous, delicate woman, who 
would faint in your rat-hole of a place. Go in the evening, 
instead of accepting her dinner, since the law forbids your 
eating or drinking at your client’s expense.” 


334 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


“And does not the law forbid you from taking any legacy 
from your dead?” said Popinot, fancying that he saw a 
touch of irony on his nephew’s lips. 

“Come, uncle, if it were only to enable you to get at the 
truth of this business, grant my request. You will come as 
the examining judge, since matters do not seem to you very 
clear. Deuce take it! It is as necessary to cross-question the 
Marquise as it is to examine the Marquis.” 

“You are right,” said the lawyer. “It is quite possible 
that it is she who is mad. I will go.” 

“T will call. for you. Write down in your engagement 
book: “To-morrow evening at nine, Madame d’Espard.”— 
Good!” said Bianchon, seeing his uncle make a note of the © 
engagement. 


Next evening at nine Bianchon mounted his uncle’s dusty 
staircase, and found him at work on the statement of some 
complicated judgment. The coat Lavienne had ordered of 
the tailor had not been sent, so Popinot put on his old stained 
coat, and was the Popinot unadorned whose appearance made 
those laugh who did not know the secrets of his private life. 
Bianchon, however, obtained permission to pull his cravat 
straight, and to button his coat, and he hid the stains by 
crossing the breast of it with the right side over the left, and 
so displaying the new front of the cloth. But in a minute 
the judge rucked the coat up over his chest by the way in 
which he stuffed his hands into his pockets, obeying an ir- 
resistible habit. Thus the coat, deeply wrinkled both in front 
and behind, made a sort of hump in the middle of the back, 
leaving a gap between the waistcoat and trousers through 
which his shirt showed. °Bianchon, to his sorrow, only dis- 
covered this crowning absurdity at the moment when his 
uncle entered the Marquise’s room. 

A brief sketch of the person and the career of the lady 
in whose presence the doctor and the judge now found them- 
selves is necessary for an understanding of her interview 
with Popinot. 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 335 


Madame d’Espard had, for the last seven years, been very 
much the fashion in Paris, where Fashion can raise and drop 
by turns various personages who, now great and now small, 
that is to say, in view or forgotten, are at last quite intoler- 
able—as discarded ministers are, and every kind of decayed 
sovereignty. ‘These flatterers of the past, odious with their 
stale pretensions, know everything, speak ill of everything, 
and, like ruined profligates, are friends with all the world. 
Since her husband had separated from her in 1815, Madame 
d’Espard must have married in the beginning of 1812. Her 
children, therefore, were aged respectively fifteen and thir- 
teen. By what luck was the mother of a family, about three- 
and-thirty years of age, still the fashion? 

Though Fashion is capricious, and no one can foresee who 
shall be her favorites, though she often exalts a banker’s wife, 
or some woman of very doubtful elegance and beauty, it cer- 
tainly seems supernatural when Fashion puts on constitu- 
tional airs and gives promotion for age. But in this case 
Fashion had done as the world did, and accepted Madame 
d’Espard as still young. 

The Marquise, who was thirty-three by her register of 
birth, was twenty-two in a drawing-room in the evening. 
But by what care, what artifice! Hlaborate curls shaded her 
temples. She condemned herself to live in twilight, affecting 
_ illness so as to sit under the protecting tones of light filtered 
through muslin. Like Diane de Poitiers, she used cold water 
in her bath, and, like her again, the Marquise slept on a horse- 
hair mattress, with morocco-covered pillows to preserve her 
hair; she ate very little, only drank water, and observed mo- 
nastic regularity in the smallest actions of her life. 

This severe system has, it is said, been carried so far as to 
the use of ice instead of water, and nothing but cold food, by a 
famous Polish lady of our day who spends a life, now verging 
on a century old, after the fashion of a town belle. Fated to 
live as long as Marion Delorme, whom history has credited 
with surviving to be a hundred and thirty, the old vice-queen 
of Poland, at the age of nearly a hundred, has the heart and 


336 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


brain of youth, a charming face, an elegant shape; and in 
her conversation, sparkling with brilliancy like faggots in the 
fire, she can compare the men and books of our literature 
with the men and books of the eighteenth century. Living 
in Warsaw, she orders her caps of Herbault in Paris. She is 
a great lady with the amiability of a mere girl; she swims, 
she runs like a schoolboy, and can sink on to a sofa with the 
grace of a young coquette; she mocks at death, and laughs 
at life. After having astonished the Emperor Alexander, 
she can still amaze the Emperor Nicholas by the splendor of 
her entertainments. She can still bring tears to the eyes of 
a youthful lover, for her age is whatever she pleases, and 
she has the exquisite self-devotion of a grisette. In short, 
she is herself a fairy tale, unless, indeed, she is a fairy. 

Had Madame d’Espard known Madame Zayonseck? Did 
she mean to imitate her career? Be that as it may, the 
Marquise proved the merits of the treatment; her complexion 
was clear, her brow unwrinkled, her figure, like that of Henri 
IT.’s lady-love, preserved the litheness, the freshness, the cov- 
ered charms which bring a woman love and keep it alive. 
The simple precautions of this course, suggested by art and 
nature, and perhaps by experience, had met in her with a 
general system which confirmed the results. The Marquise 
was absolutely indifferent to everything that was not herself: 
men amused her, but no man had ever caused her those deep 
agitations which stir both natures to their depths, and wreck 
one on the other. She knew neither hatred nor love. When 
she was offended, she avenged herself coldly, quietly, at her 
leisure, waiting for the opportunity to gratify the ill-will 
she cherished against anybody who dwelt in her unfavorable 
remembrance. She made no fuss, she did not excite herself ; 
she talked, because she knew that by two words a woman 
may cause the death of three men. 

She had parted from M. d’Espard with the greatest satis- 
faction. Had he not taken with him two children who at 
present were troublesome, and in the future would stand in 
the way of her pretensions? Her most intimate friends, as 


a a 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 337 


much as her least persistent admirers, seeing about her none 
of Cornelia’s jewels, who come and go, and unconsciously 
betray their mother’s age, took her for quite a young woman. 
The two boys, about whom she seemed so anxious in her 
petition, were, like their father, as unknown in the world 
as the northwest passage is unknown to navigators. M. 
d’Espard was supposed to be an eccentric personage who had 
deserted his wife without having the smallest cause for 
complaint against her. 

Mistress of herself at two-and-twenty, and mistress of her 
fortune of twenty-six thousand francs a year, the Marquise 
hesitated long before deciding on a course of action and 
ordering her life. Though she benefited by the expenses 
her husband had incurred in his house, though she had all 
the furniture, the carriages, the horses, in short, all the 
details of a handsome establishment, she lived a retired life 
during the years 1816, 17, and 18, a time when families were 
recovering from the disasters resulting from political tem- 
pests. She belonged to one of the most important and illus- 
trious families of the Faubourg Saint-Germain, and her 
parents advised her to live with them as much as possible 
after the separation forced upon her by her husband’s inex- 
plicable caprice. 

In 1820 the Marquise roused herself from her lethargy; 
she went to Court, appeared at parties, and entertained in 
her own house. From 1821 to 1827 she lived in great style, 
and made herself remarked for her taste and her dress; she 
had a day, an hour, for receiving visits, and ere long she had 
seated herself on the throne, occupied before her by Ma- 
dame la Vicomtesse de Beauséant, the Duchesse de Langeais, 
and Madame Firmiani—who on her marriage with M. de 
Camps had resigned the sceptre in favor of the Duchesse de 
Maufrigneuse, from whom Madame d’Espard snatched it. 
The world knew nothing beyond this of the private life of the 
Marquise d’Espard. She seemed likely to shine for long 
on the Parisian horizon, like the sun near its setting, but 
which will never set. 


338 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


The Marquise was on terms of great intimacy with a 
duchess as famous for her beauty as for her attachment to 
a prince just now in banishment, but accustomed to play a 
leading part in every prospective government. Madame 
d’Espard was also the friend of a foreign lady, with whom 
a famous and very wily Russian diplomate was in the habit 
of discussing public affairs. And then an antiquated count- 
ess, who was accustomed to shuffle the cards for the great 
game of politics, had adopted her in a maternal fashion. 
Thus, to any man of high ambitions, Madame d’Espard was 
preparing a covert but very real influence to follow the public 
and frivolous ascendency she now owed to fashion. Her 
drawing-room was acquiring political individuality: “What 
do they say at Madame d’Espard’s?” ‘Are they against the - 
measure in Madame d’Espard’s drawing-room?” were ques- 
tions repeated by a sufficient number of simpletons to give 
the flock of the faithful who surrounded her the importance 
of a coterie. A few damaged politicians whose wounds she 
had bound up, and whom she flattered, pronounced her as 
capable in diplomacy as the wife of the Russian ambassador 
to London. The Marquise had indeed several times suggested 
to deputies or to peers words and ideas that had rung through 
Europe. She had often judged correctly of certain events 
on which her circle of friends dared not express an opinion. 
The principal persons about the Court came in the evening 
to play whist in her rooms. 

Then she also had the qualities of her defects; she was 
thought to be—and she was—discreet. Her friendship 
seemed to be staunch; she worked for her protégés with a 
persistency which showed that she cared less for patronage 
than for increased influence. This conduct was based on 
her dominant passion, Vanity. Conquests and pleasure, 
which so many women love, to her seemed only means to an 
end; she aimed at living on every point of the largest circle 
that life can describe. 

Among the men still young, and to whom the future be- 
longed, who crowded her drawing-room on great occasions, 





THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 339 


were to be seen MM. de Marsay and de Ronquerolles, de Mont- 
riveau, de la Roche-Hugon, de Sérizy, Ferraud, Maxime de 
Trailles, de Listomére, the two Vandenesses, du Chatelet, 
and others. She would frequently receive a man whose wife 
she would not admit, and her power was great enough to in- 
duce certain ambitious men to submit to these hard condi- 
tions, such as two famous royalist bankers, M. de Nucingen 
and Ferdinand du Tillet. She had so thoroughly studied the 
strength and the weakness of Paris life, that her conduct had 
never given any man the smallest advantage over her. An 
enormous price might have been set on a note or letter by 
which she might have compromised herself, without one 
being produced. 

If an arid soul enabled her to play her part to the life, her 
person was no less available for it. She had a youthful figure. 
Her voice was, at will, soft and fresh, or clear and hard. She 
possessed in the highest degree the secret of that aristocratic 
pose by which a woman wipes out the past. The Marquise 
knew well the art of setting an immense space between herself 
and the sort of man who fancies he may be familiar after 
some chance advances. Her imposing gaze could deny every- 
thing. In her conversation fine and beautiful sentiments 
and noble resolutions flowed naturally, as it seemed, from a 
pure heart and soul; but in reality she was all self, and 
- quite capable of blasting a man who was clumsy in his nego- 
tiations, at the very time when she was shamelessly making 
a compromise for the benefit of her own interest. 

Rastignac, in trying to fasten on to this woman, had dis- 
cerned her to be the cleverest of tools, but he had not yet used 
it; far from handling it, he was already finding himself 
crushed by it. This young Condottere of the brain, con- 
demned, like Napoleon, to give battle constantly, while know- 
ing that a single defeat would prove the grave of his fortunes, 
had met a dangerous adversary in his protectress. For the 
first time in his turbulent life, he was playing a game with 
a partner worthy of him. He saw a place as Minister in the 
conquest of Madame d’Espard, so he was her tool till he 
could make her his—a perilous beginning. 


340 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


The Hdétel d’Espard needed a large household, and the 
Marquise had a great number of servants. ‘The grand recep- 
tions were held in the ground-floor rooms, but she lived on 
the first floor of the house. The perfect order of a fine stair- 
case splendidly decorated, and rooms fitted in the dignified 
style which formerly prevailed at Versailles, spoke of an 
immense fortune. When the judge saw the carriage gates 
thrown open to admit his nephew’s cab, he took in with a 
rapid glance the lodge, the porter, the courtyard, the stables, 
the arrangement of the house, the flowers that decorated 
the stairs, the perfect cleanliness of the banisters, walls, and 
carpets, and counted the footmen in livery who, as the bell 
rang, appeared on the landing. His eyes, which only yester- 
day in his parlor had sounded the dignity of misery under the 
muddy clothing of the poor, now studied with the same pene- 
trating vision the furniture and splendor of the rooms he 
passed through, to pierce to the misery of grandeur. 

“M. Popinot—M. Bianchon.” 

The two names were pronounced at the door of the boudoir 
where the Marquise was sitting, a pretty room recently refur- 
nished, and looking out on the garden behind the house. At 
the moment Madame d’Espard was seated in one of the old 
rococo armchairs of which Madame had set the fashion. 
Rastignac was at her left hand on a low coi in which he 
looked settled like an Italian lady’s “cousin.” A third person 
was standing by the corner of the chimney-piece. As the 
shrewd doctor had suspected, the Marquise was a woman of 
a parched and wiry constitution. But for her regimen her 
complexion must have taken the ruddy tone that is produced 
by constant heat; but she added to the effect of her acquired 
pallor by the strong colors of the stuffs she hung her rooms 
with, or in which ake dressed. Reddish-brown, marone, bistre 
with a golden light in it, suited her to perfection. Her 
boudoir, copied from that of a famous lady then at the height 
of fashion in London, was in tan-colored velvet; but she had 
added various details of ornament which moderated the 
pompous splendor of this royal hue. Her hair was dressed 





Mm) 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 341 


like a girl’s in bands ending in curls, which emphasized the 
rather long oval of her face; but an oval face is as majestic 
as a round one is ignoble. The mirrors, cut with facets to 
lengthen or flatten the face at will, amply prove the rule as 
applied to the physiognomy. 

On seeing Popinot, who stood in the doorway craning his 


neck like a startled animal, with his left hand in his pocket, 


and the right hand holding a hat with a greasy lining, the 
Marquise gave Rastignac a look wherein lay a germ of mock- 
ery. The good man’s rather foolish appearance was so com- 
pletely in harmony with his grotesque figure and scared looks, 
that Rastignac, catching sight of Bianchon’s dejected ex- 
pression of humiliation through his uncle, could not help 
laughing, and turned away. The Marquise bowed a greet- 
ing, and made a great effort to rise from her seat, falling 
back again, not without grace, with an air of apologizing for 
her incivility by affected weakness. 

At this instant the person who was standing between the 
fireplace and the door bowed slightly, and pushed forward 
two chairs, which he offered by a gesture to the doctor and 
the judge; then, when they had seated themselves, he leaned 
against the wall again, crossing his arms. 

A word astothisman. There is living now, in our day, a 
painter—Decamps—who possesses in the very highest degree 
the art of commanding your interest in everything he sets 
before your eyes, whether it be a stone or a man. In this 
respect his pencil is more skilful than his brush. He will 
sketch an empty room and leave a broom against the wall. 
If he chooses, you shall shudder; you shall believe that this 
broom has just been the instrument of crime, and is dripping 
with blood; it shall be the broom which the widow Bancal 
used to clean out the room where Fualdés was murdered. 
Yes, the painter will touzle that broom like a man in a rage; 
he will make each hair of it stand on-end as though it were 
on your own bristling scalp; he will make it the interpreter 
between the secret poem of his imagination and the poem 
that shall have its birth in yours. After terrifying you by 


342 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


the aspect of that broom, to-morrow he will draw another, 
and lying by it a cat, asleep, but mysterious in its sleep, shall 
tell you that this broom is that on which the wife of a German 
cobbler rides off to the Sabbath on the Brocken. Or it will 
be a quite harmless broom, on which he will hang the coat 
of a clerk in the Treasury. Decamps had in his brush what 
Paganini had in his bow—a magnetically communicative 
power. 

Well, I should have to transfer to my style that striking 
genius, that marvelous knack of the pencil, to depict the 
upright, tall, lean man dressed in black, with black hair, 
who stood there without speaking a word. This gentleman 


had a face like a knife-blade, cold and harsh, with a color | 


like Seine water when it is muddy and strewn with fragments 
of charcoal from a sunken barge. He looked at the floor, 
listening and passing judgment. His attitude was terrifying. 
He stood there like the dreadful broom to which Decamps 
has given the power of revealing a crime. Now and then, 
in the course of conversation, the Marquise tried to get some 
tacit advice; but however eager her questioning, he was as 
grave and as rigid as the statue of the Commendatore. 

The worthy Popinot, sitting on the edge of his chair in 
front of the fire, his hat between his knees, stared at the gilt 
chandeliers, the clock, and the curiosities with which the 
chimney-shelf was covered, the velvet and trimmings of the 
curtains, and all the costly and elegant nothings that a wo- 


man of fashion collects about her. He was roused from his — 


homely meditations by Madame d’Espard, who addressed him 
in a piping tone: ‘ 

“Monsieur, I owe you a million thanks 4 

“A million thanks,” thought he to himself, “that is too 
many; it does not mean one.” 

“For the trouble you condescend 

“Condescend !” thought he; “she is laughing at me.” 

“To take in coming to see an unhappy client, who is too ill 
to go out i 

Here the lawyer cut the Marquise short by giving her an 





bP 











THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 343 


inquisitorial look, examining the sanitary condition of the 
unhappy client. 

“As sound as a bell,” said he to himself. 

“Madame,” said he, assuming a respectful mien, “you owe 
me nothing. Although my visit to you is not in strict ac- 
cordance with the practice of the Court, we ought to spare 
no pains to discover the truth in cases of this kind. Our 
judgment is then guided less by the letter of the law than 
by the promptings of our conscience. Whether I seek the 
truth here or in my own consulting-room, so long as I find it, 
all will be well.” 

While Popinot was speaking, Rastignac was shaking hands 
with Bianchon; the Marquise welcomed the doctor with a 
little bow full of gracious significance. 

“Who is that?” asked Bianchon in a whisper of Rastignac, 
indicating the dark man. 

“The Chevalier d’Espard, the Marquis’ brother.” 

“Your nephew told me,” said the Marquise to Popinot, 
“how much you are occupied, and I know too that you are 
so good as to wish to conceal your kind actions, so as to 
release those whom you oblige from the burden of gratitude. 
The work in Court is most fatiguing, it would seem. Why 
have they not twice as many judges?” 

“Ah, madame, that would not be difficult; we should be 
none the worse if they had. But when that happens, fowls 
will cut their teeth!” 

As he heard this speech, so entirely in character with the 
- lawyer’s appearance, the Chevalier measured him from head 
to foot, out of one eye, as much as to say, “We shall easily 
manage him.” 

The Marquise looked at Rastignac, who bent over her. 
“That is the sort of man,” murmured the dandy in her ear, 
“who is trusted to pass judgments on the life and interests 
of private individuals.” 

Like most men who have grown old in a business, Popinot 
readily let himself follow the habits he had acquired, more 
particularly habits of mind. His conversation was all of 


344 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


“the shop.” He was fond of questioning those he talked to, 
forcing them to unexpected conclusions, making them tell 
more than they wished to reveal. Pozzo di Borgo, it is said, 
used to amuse himself by discovering other folks’ secrets, and 
entangling them in his diplomatic snares, and thus, by in- 
vincible habit, showed how his mind was soaked in wiliness. 
As soon as Popinot had surveyed the ground, so to speak, 
on which he stood, he saw that it would be necessary to have 
recourse to the cleverest subtleties, the most elaborately 
wrapped up and disguised, which were in use in the Courts, 
to detect the truth. 

Bianchon sat cold and stern, as a man who has made up 
his mind to endure torture without revealing his sufferings ; 
but in his heart he wished that his uncle could only trample 
on this woman as we trample on a viper—a comparison sug- 
gested to him by the Marquise’s long dress, by the curve of 
her attitude, her long neck, small head, and undulating 
movements. 

“Well, monsieur,” said Madame d’Espard, “however great 
my dislike to be or seem selfish, I have been suffering too long 
not to wish that you may settle matters at once. Shall I 
soon get a favorable decision ?” 

“Madame, I will do my best to bring matters to a conclu- 
sion,” said Popinot, with an air of frank good-nature. “Are 
you ignorant of the reason which made the separation neces- 
sary which now subsists between you and the Marquis d’Hs- 
pard ?” 

“Yes, monsieur,” she replied, evidently prepared with a 
story to tell. “At the beginning of 1816 M. d’Espard, whose ~ 
temper had completely changed within three months or so, © 
proposed that we should go to live on one of his estates near 
Briancon, without any regard for my health, which that cli- 
mate would have destroyed, or for my habits of life; I refused — 
to go. My refusal gave rise to such unjustifiable reproaches — 
on his part, that from that hour I had my suspicions as to © 
the soundness of his mind. On the following day he left me, 
leaving me his house and the free use of my own income, and ~ 





THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 345 


he went to live in the Rue de la Montagne-Sainte-Geneviéve, 
taking with him my two children i 

“One moment, madame,” said the lawyer, interrupting 
her. “What was that income?” 

“Twenty-six thousand francs a year,” she replied paren- 
thetically. “I at once consulted old M. Bordin as to what I 
ought to do,” she went on; “but it seems that there are so 
many difficulties in the way of depriving a father of the care 
of his children, that I was forced to resign myself to remain- 
ing alone at the age of twenty-two—an age at which many 
young women do very foolish things. You have read my 
petition, no doubt, monsieur; you know the principal facts 
on which I rely to procure a Commission in Lunacy with re- 
gard to M. d’Espard?” 

“Have you ever applied to him, madame, to obtain the care 
of your children?” 

“Yes, monsieur; but in vain. It is very hard on a mother 
to be deprived of the affection of her children, particularly 
when they can give her such happiness as every woman 
clings to.” 

“The elder must be sixteen,” said Popinot. 

“Fifteen,” said the Marquise eagerly. 

Here Bianchon and Rastignac looked at each other. Ma- 
dame d’Hspard bit her lips. 

“What can the age of my children matter to you?” 

“Well, madame,” said the lawyer, without seeming to at- 
tach any importance to his words, “a lad of fifteen and his 
brother, of thirteen, I suppose, have legs and their wits about 
them; they might come to see you on the sly. If they do 
not, it is because they obey their father, and to obey him in 
that matter they must love him very dearly.” 

“J do not understand,” said the Marquise. 

“You do not know, perhaps,” replied Popinot, “that in your 
petition your attorney represents your children as being very 
unhappy with their father?” 

Madame d’Kspard replied with charming innocence: 

“T do not know what my attorney may have put into my 
mouth.” 





346 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


“Forgive my inferences,” said Popinot, “but Justice weighs 


everything. What I ask you, madame, is suggested by my 
wish thoroughly to- understand the matter. By your account 
M. d’Espard deserted you on the most frivolous pretext. 
Instead of going to Briancgon, where he wished to take you, 
he remained in Paris. This point is not clear. Did he know 
this Madame Jeanrenaud before his marriage?” 

“No, monsieur,” replied the Marquise, with some asperity, 
visible only to Rastignac and the Chevalier d’Espard. 

She was offended at being cross-questioned by this lawyer 
when she had intended to beguile his judgment; but as 
Popinot still looked stupid from sheer absence of mind, she 
ended by attributing his interrogatory to the Questioning 
Spirit of Voltaire’s bailiff. 

“My parents,” she went on, “married me at the age of six- 
teen to M. d’Espard, whose name, fortune, and mode of life 
were such as my family looked for in the man who was to 
be my husband. M. d’Espard was then six-and-twenty; he 
was a gentleman in the English sense of the word; his man- 
ners pleased me, he seemed to have plenty of ambition, and 
I like ambitious people,” she added, looking at Rastignac. 
“Tf M. d@Hspard had never met that Madame Jeanrenaud, 
his character, his learning, his acquirements would have 
raised oim—as his friends then believed—to high office in 
the Government. King Charles X., at that time Monsieur, 
had the greatest esteem for him, and a peer’s seat, an appoint- 
ment at Court, some important post certainly would have 
been his. That woman turned his head, and has ruined all 
the prospects of my family.” 

“What were M. d’Espard’s religious opinions at that time ?” 

“He was, and is still, a very pious man.” 

“You do not suppose that Madame Jeanrenaud may have 
influenced him by mysticism ?” 

“No, monsieur.” 

“You have a very fine house, madame,” said Popinot sud- 
denly, taking his hands out of his pockets, and rising to pick 
up his coat-tails and warm himself, “This boudoir is very 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 347 


nice, those chairs are magnificent, the whole apartment is 
sumptuous. You must indeed be most unhappy when, seeing 
yourself here, you know that your children are ill lodged, 
ill clothed, and ill fed. I can imagine nothing more terrible 
for a mother.” 

“Yes, indeed. I should be so glad to give the poor little 
fellows some amusement, while their father keeps them at 
work from morning till night at that wretched history of 
China.” 

“You give handsome balls; they would enjoy them, but 
they might acquire a taste for dissipation. However, their 
father might send them to you once or twice in the course 
of the winter.” 

“He brings them here on my birthday and on New Year’s 
Day. On those days M. d’Espard does me the favor of dining 
here with them.” 

“Tt is very singular behavior,” said the judge, with an air 
of conviction. “Have you ever seen this Dame Jeanrenaud ?” 

“My brother-in-law one day, out of interest in his 
brother at 

“Ah! monsieur is M. d’Espard’s brother?” said the lawyer, 
interrupting her. | 

The Chevalier bowed, but did not speak. 

“M. d’Espard, who has watched this affair, took me to the 
Oratoire, where this woman goes to sermon, for she is a 
_ Protestant. I saw her; she is not in the least attractive; she 
looks like a butcher’s wife, extremely fat, horribly marked 
with the smallpox; she has feet and hands like a man’s, she 
squints, in short, she is monstrous !” 

“Tt is inconceivable,” said the judge, looking like the most 
imbecile judge in the whole kingdom. “And this creature 
lives near here, Rue Verte, in a fine house? ‘There are no 
plain folks left, it would seem?” 

“In a mansion on which her son has spent absurd sums.” 

“Madame,” said Popinot, “I live in the Faubourg Saint- 
Marceau; I know nothing of such expenses. What do you 
call absurd sums?” 





348 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


“Well,” said the Marquise, “a stable with five horses and 


three carriages, a phaeton, a brougham, and a cabriolet.” 

“That costs a large sum, then?” asked Popinot in surprise. 

“Hnormous sums!” said Rastignac, intervening. “Such 
an establishment would cost, for the stables, the keeping the 
carriages in order, and the liveries for the men, between fif- 
teen and sixteen thousand francs a year.” 

“Should you think so, madame?” said the judge, looking 
much astonished. 

“Yes, at least,” replied the Marquise. 

“And the furniture, too, must have cost a lot of money?” 

“More than a hundred thousand francs,” replied Madame 
d’Espard, who could not help smiling at the lawyer’s vul- 
garity. 

“Judges, madame, are apt to be incredulous; it is what 
they are paid for, and I am incredulous. The Baron Jean- 
renaud and his mother must have fleeced M. d’Espard most 
preposterously, if what you say is correct. There is a stable 
establishment which, by your account, costs sixteen thousand 
francs a year. Housekeeping, servants’ wages, and the gross 
expenses of the house itself must run to twice as much; that 
makes a total of from fifty to sixty thousand francs a year. 
Do you suppose that these people, formerly so extremely poor, 
can have so large a fortune? A million yields scarcely forty 
thousand a year.” 

“Monsieur, the mother and son invested the money given 
them by M. d’Espard in the funds when they were at 60 to 80. 
I should think their income must be more than sixty thousand 
francs. And then the son has fine appointments.” 

“If they spend sixty thousand francs a year,” said the 
judge, “how much do you spend ?” 

“Well,” said Madame d’Espard, “about the same.” The 
Chevalier started a little, the Marquise colored; Bianchon 
looked at Rastignac; but Popinot preserved an expression of 
simplicity which quite deceived Madame d’Espard. The 
Chevalier took no part in the conversation; he saw that all 
was lost. 


ae 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 349 


“These people, madame, might be indicted before the 
superior Court,” said Popinot. 

“That was my opinion,” exclaimed the Marquise, en- 
chanted. “If threatened with the police, they would have 
come to terms.” 

“Madame,” said Popinot, “when M. d’Espard left you, did 
he not give you a power of attorney enabling you to manage 
and control your own affairs?” 

“{ do not understand the object of all these questions,” 
said the Marquise with petulance. “It seems to me that if 
you would only consider the state in which I am placed by 
my husband’s insanity, you ought to be troubling yourself 
about him, and not about me.” 

“We are coming to that, madame,” said the judge. “Be- 
fore placing in your hands, or in any others, the control of 
M. d’Espard’s property, supposing he were pronounced in- 
capable, the Court must inquire as to how you have managed 
your own. If M. d’Espard gave you power, he would have 
shown confidence in you, and the Court would recognize the 
fact. Had you any power from him? You might have 
bought or sold house property or invested money in busi- 
ness ?” 

“No, monsieur, the Blamont-Chauvrys are not in the habit 
of trading,” said she, extremely nettled in her pride as an 
aristocrat, and forgetting the business in hand. “My prop- 
erty is intact, and M. d’Espard gave me no power to act.” 

The Chevalier put his hand over his eyes not to betray the 
vexation he felt at his sister-in-law’s short-sightedness, for she 
was ruining herself by her answers. Popinot had gone 
straight to the mark in spite of his apparent doublings. 

“Madame,” said the lawyer, indicating the Chevalier, “this 
gentleman, of course, is your near connection? May we 
speak openly before these other gentlemen ?” 

“Speak on,” said the Marquise, surprised at this caution. 

“Well, madame, granting that you spend only sixty thou- 
sand frances a year, to any one who sees your stables, your 
house, your train of servants, and a style of housekeeping 


350 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


which strikes me as far more luxurious than that of the 
Jeanrenauds, that sum would seem well laid out.” 

The Marquise bowed an agreement. 

“But,” continued the judge, “if you have no more than 
twenty-six thousand franes a year, you may have a hundred 
thousand francs of debt. The Court would therefore have a 
right to imagine that the motives which prompt you to ask that 
your husband may be deprived of the control of his property 
are complicated by self-interest and the need of paying your 
debts—if—you—-have—any. The requests addressed to me 
have interested me in your position; consider fully and make 
your confession. If my suppositions have hit the truth, there 
is yet time to avoid the blame which the Court would have 
a perfect right to express in the saving clauses of the verdict 
if you could not show your attitude to be absolutely honor- 
able and clear. 

“Tt is our duty to examine the motives of the applicant 
as well as to listen to the plea of the witness under examina- 
tion, to ascertain whether the petitioner may not have been 
prompted by passion, by a desire for money, which is unfor- 
tunately too common——” 

The Marquise was on Saint Laurence’s gridiron. 

“And I must have explanations on this point. Madame, 
I have no wish to call you to account; I only want to know 
how you have managed to live at the rate of sixty thousand 
francs a year, and that for some years past. There are 
plenty of women who achieve this in their housekeeping, but 
you are not one of those. Tell me, you may have the most 
legitimate resources, a royal pension, or some claim on the 
indemnities lately granted; but even then you must have had 
your husband’s authority to receive them.” 

The Marquise did not speak. 

“You must remember,” Popinot went on, “that M. 
d’Espard may wish to enter a protest, and his counsel will 
have a right to find out whether you have any creditors. This 
boudoir is newly furnished, your rooms are not now fur- 
nished with the things left to you by M. d’Espard in 1816. 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 351 


If, as you did me the honor of informing me, furniture is 
costly for the Jeanrenauds, it must be yet more so for you, 
who are a great lady. Though I am a judge, I am but a man; 
I may be wrong—tell me so. Remember the duties imposed 
on me by the law, and the rigorous inquiries it demands, 
when the case before it is the suspension from all his func- 
tions of the father of a family in the prime of life. So you 
will pardon me, Madame la Marquise, for laying all these 
difficulties before you; it will be easy for you to give me an 
explanation. 

“When a man is pronounced incapable of the control of his 
own affairs, a trustee has to be appointed. Who will be the 
trustee ?” 

“His brother,” said the Marquise. 

The Chevalier bowed. There was a short silence, very un- 
comfortable for the five persons who were present. The 
judge, in sport as it were, had laid open the woman’s sore 
place. Popinot’s countenance of common, clumsy good- 
nature, at which the Marquise, the Chevalier, and Rastignac 
had been inclined to laugh, had gained importance in their 
eyes. As they stole a look at him, they discerned the various 
expressions of that eloquent mouth. The ridiculous mortal 
was a judge of acumen. His studious notice of the boudoir 
was accounted for: he had started from the gilt elephant 
supporting the chimney-clock, examining all this luxury, and 
had. ended by reading this woman’s soul. 

“Tf the Marquis d’Espard is mad about China, I see that 
you are not less fond of its products,” said Popinot, looking 
at the porcelain on the chimney-piece. “But perhaps it was 
from M. le Marquis that you had these charming Oriental 
pieces,” and he pointed to some precious trifles. 

This irony, in very good taste, made Bianchon smile, and 
petrified Rastignac, while the Marquise bit her thin lips. 

“Instead of being the protector of a woman placed in a 
eruel dilemma—an alternative between losing her fortune 
and her children, and being regarded as her husband’s en- 
emy,” she said, “you accuse me, monsieur! You suspect my 
motives! You must own that your conduct is strange!” 


352 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


“Madame,” said the judge eagerly, “the caution exercised 
by the Court in such cases as these might have given you, 
in any other judge, a perhaps less indulgent critic than I 
am.—And do you suppose that M. d’Espard’s lawyer will 
show you any great consideration? Will he not be suspicious 
of motives which may be perfectly pure and disinterested ? 
Your life will be at his mercy; he will inquire into it without 
qualifying his search by the respectful deference I have for 
you.” 

“T am much obliged to you, monsieur,” said the Marquise 
satirically. “Admitting for the moment that I owe thirty 
thousand, or fifty thousand francs, in the first place, it would 
be a mere trifle to the d’Espards and the Blamont-Chauvrys. 
But if my husband is not in the possession of his mental fac- 
ulties, would that prevent his being pronounced incapable?” 

“No, madame,” said Popinot. 

“Although you have questioned me with a sort of cunning 
which I should not have suspected in a judge, and under 
circumstances where straightforwardness would have an- 
swered your purpose,” she went on, “I will tell you without 
subterfuge that my position in the world, and the efforts I 
have to make to keep up my connection, are not in the least 
to my taste. I began my life by a long period of solitude; 
but my children’s interest appealed to me; I felt that 
I must fill their father’s place. By receiving my friends, 
by keeping up all this connection, by contracting these debts, 
I have secured their future welfare; I have prepared for 
them a brilliant career where they will find help and favor; 
and to have what has thus been acquired, many a man of 
business, lawyer or banker, would gladly pay all it has cost 
me.” 

“I appreciate your devoted conduct, madame,” replied 
Popinot. “It does you honor, and I blame you for nothing. 
A judge belongs to all: he must know and weigh every fact.” 

Madame d’Espard’s tact and practice in estimating men 
made her understand that M. Popinot was not to be influ- 
enced by any consideration. She had counted on an ambi- 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 358 


tious lawyer, she had found a man of conscience. She at 
once thought of finding other means for securing the success 
of her side. 

The servants brought in tea. 

“Have you any further explanations to give me, madame?” 
said Popinot, seeing these preparations. 

“Monsieur,” she replied haughtily, “do your business your 
eet: question M. d’Espard, and you will pity me, I am 
sure.” She raised her head, looking Popinot in the face with 
pride, mingled with impertinence ; the worthy man bowed 
himself out respectfully. 

“A nice man is your uncle,” said Rastignac to Bianchon. 
“Is he really so dense? Does not he know what the Marquise 
d’Hspard is, what her influence means, her unavowed power 
over people? The Keeper of the Seals will be with her to- 
Morrow i 

“My dear fellow, how can I help it?” said Bianchon. “Did 
not I warn you? He is not a man you can get over.” 

“No,” said Rastignac; “he is a man you must run over.” 

The doctor was obliged to make his bow to the Marquise 
and her mute Chevalier to catch up Popinot, who, not being 
the man to endure an embarrassing position, was pacing 
through the rooms. 

“That woman owes a hundred thousand crowns,” said the 
judge, as he stepped into his nephew’s cab. 

“And what do you think of the case?” 

“T,” said the judge. “TI never have an opinion till I have 
gone into everything. ‘To-morrow early I will send to Ma- 
dame Jeanrenaud to call on me in my private office at four 
o'clock, to make her explain the facts which concern her, 
for she is compromised.” 

“T should very much like to know what the end will be.” 

“Why, bless me, do not you see that the Marquise is the 
tool of that tall lean man who never uttered a word? There is 
a strain of Cain in him, but of the Cain who goes to the 
Law Courts for his bludgeon, and there, unluckily for him, 
we keep more than one Damocles’ sword.” 


2? 





354 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


“Oh, Rastignac! what brought you into that boat, I won-. 


der ?”’ exclaimed Bianchon. 

“Ah, we are used to seeing these little family conspiracies,” 
said Popinot. “Not a year passes without a number of ver- 
dicts of ‘insufficient evidence’ against applications of this 
kind. In our state of society such an attempt brings no dis- 
honor, while we send a poor devil to the galleys who breaks 
a pane of glass dividing him from a bowl full of gold. Our 
Code is not faultless.” 

“But these are the facts?” 

“My boy, do you not know all the judicial romances with 
which clients impose on their attorneys? If the attorneys 
condemned themselves to state nothing but the truth, they 
would not earn enough to keep their office open.” 


Next day, at four in the afternoon, a very stout dame, 
looking a good deal like a cask dressed up in a gown and 
belt, mounted Judge Popinot’s stairs, perspiring and panting. 
She had, with great difficulty, got out of a green landau, 
which suited her to a miracle; you could not think of the 
woman without the landau, or the landau without the woman. 

“Tt is I, my dear sir,” said she, appearing in the doorway 
of the judge’s room. “Madame Jeanrenaud, whom you sum- 
moned exactly as if I were a thief, neither more nor less.” 

The common words were spoken in a common voice, 
broken by the wheezing of asthma, and ending in a cough. 

“When I go through a damp place, I can’t tell you what I 
suffer, sir. I shall never make old bones, saving your presence. 
However, here I am.” 

The lawyer was quite amazed at the appearance of this 
supposed Maréchale d’Ancre. Madame Jeanrenaud’s face 
was pitted with an infinite number of little holes, was very 
red, with a pug nose and a low forehead, and was as round as 
a ball; for everything about the good woman was round. 
She had the bright eyes of a country woman, an honest gaze, 
a cheerful tone, and chestnut hair held in place by a bonnet 
cap under a green bonnet decked with a shabby bunch of 


Sa 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 355 


auriculas. Her stupendous bust was a thing to laugh at, 
for it made one fear some grotesque explosion every time she 
coughed. Her enormous legs were of the shape which make 
the Paris street boy describe such a woman as being built on 
piles. The widow wore a green gown trimmed with chin- 
chilla, which looked on her as a splash of dirty oil would look 
on a bride’s veil. In short, everything about her harmonized 
with her last words: “‘Here I am.” 

“Madame,” said Popinot, “you are suspected of having 
used some seductive arts to induce M. d’Espard to hand over 
to you very considerable sums of money.” 

“Of what! of what!’ cried she. “Of seductive arts? But, 
my dear sir, you are a man to be respected, and, moreover, 
as a lawyer you ought to have some good sense. Look at me! 
Tell me if I am likely to seduce any one. I cannot tie my 
own shoes, nor even stoop. For these twenty years past, the 
Lord be praised, I have not dared to put on a pair of stays 
under pain of sudden death. I was as thin as an asparagus 
stalk when I was seventeen, and pretty too—I may say so 
now. So I married Jeanrenaud, a good fellow, and head- 
man on the salt-barges. J had my boy, who is a fine young 
man; he is my pride, and it is not holding myself cheap to 
say he is my best piece of work. My little Jeanrenaud was 
a soldier who did Napoleon credit, and who served in the 
Imperial Guard. But, alas! at the death of my old man, 
who was drowned, times changed for the worse. I had the 
smallpox. I was kept two years in my room without stirring, 
and I came out of it the size you see me, hideous for ever, 
and as wretched as could be. These are my seductive arts.” 

“But what, then, can the reasons be that have induced M. 
d’Espard to give you sums rei 

“Hugious sums, monsieur, say the word; I do not mind. 
But as to his reasons, I am not at liberty to explain them.” 

“You are wrong. At this moment, his family, very natu- 
rally alarmed, are about to bring an action oi 

“Heavens above us!” said the good woman, starting up. 
“fs it possible that he should be worried on my account? 








356 THH COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


That king of men, a man that has not his match! Rather 


than he should have the smallest trouble, or a hair less on 
his head I could almost say, we would return every sou, 
monsieur. Write that down on your papers. Heaven above 
us! I will go at once and tell Jeanrenaud what is going on! 
A pretty thing indeed !” 

And the little old woman went out, rolled herself down- 
stairs, and disappeared. 

“That one tells no lies,” said Popinot to himself. “Well, 
to-morrow I shall know the whole story, for I shall go to 
see the Marquis d’Espard.” 

People who have outlived the age when a man wastes his 
vitality at random, know how great an influence may be ex- 
ercised on more important events by apparently trivial inci- 
dents, and will not be surprised at the weight here given to 
the following minor fact. Next day Popinot had an attack 
of coryza, a complaint which is not dangerous, and generally 
known by the absurd and inadequate name of a cold in the 
head. 

The judge, who could not suppose that the delay could 
be serious, feeling himself a little feverish, kept his room, 
and did not go to see the Marquis d’Espard. This day lost 
was, to this affair, what on the Day of Dupes the cup of soup 
had been, taken by Marie de Medici, which, by delaying her 
meeting with Louis XIII., enabled Richelieu to arrive at 
Saint-Germain before her, and recapture his royal slave. 

Before accompanying the lawyer and his registering clerk 
to the Marquis d’Espard’s house, it may be as well to glance 
at the home and the private affairs of this father of sons whom 
his wife’s petition represented to be a madman. 

Here and there in the old parts of Paris a few buildings 
may still be seen in which the archeologist can discern an 
intention of decorating the city, and that love of property 
which leads the owner to give a durable character to the struct- 
ure. The house in which M. d’Hspard was then living, in 
the Rue de la Montagne-Sainte-Geneviéve, was one of these 
old mansions, built in stone, and not devoid of a certain rich- 


ome ° : 
oe ee ee tes oe, tel 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY oOt 


ness of style; but time had blackened the stone, and revolu- 
tions in the town had damaged it both outside and inside. 
The dignitaries who formerly dwelt in the neighborhood of 
the University having disappeared with the great ecclesi- 
astical foundations, this house had become the home of in- 
dustries and of inhabitants whom it was never destined to 
shelter. During the last century a printing establishment 
had worn down the polished floors, soiled the carved wood, 
blackened the walls, and altered the principal internal ar- 
rangements. Formerly the residence of a Cardinal, this fine 
house was now divided among plebeian tenants. The character 
of the architecture showed that it had been built under the 
reigns of Henry III., Henry IV., and Louis XIII., at the 
time when the hdtels Mignon and Serpente were erected in 
the same neighborhood, with the palace of the Princess Pala- 
tine, and the Sorbonne. An old man could remember having 
heard it called, in the last century, the hdtel Duperron, so 
it seemed probable that the illustrious Cardinal of that name 
had built, or perhaps merely lived in it. 

There still exists, indeed, in the corner of the courtyard, 
a perron or flight of several outer steps by which the house 
is entered ; and the way into the garden on the garden front 
is down a similar flight of steps. In spite of dilapidations, 
the luxury lavished by the architect on the balustrade and 
entrance porch crowning these two perrons suggests the 
simple-minded purpose of commemorating the owner’s name, 
a sort of sculptured pun which our ancestors often allowed 
themselves. Finally, in support of this evidence, archzolo- 
gists can still discern in the medallions which show on the 
principal front some traces of the cords of the Roman hat. 

M. le Marquis d’Espard lived on the ground floor, in order, 
no doubt, to enjoy the garden, which might be called spacious 
for that neighborhood, and which lay open to the south, two 
advantages imperatively necessary for his children’s health. 
The situation of the house, in a street on a steep hill, as its 
name indicates, secured these ground-floor rooms against 
ever being damp. M. d’Espard had taken them, no doubt, 


358 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


for a very moderate price, rents being low at the time when 
he settled in that quarter, in order to be among the schools 
and to superintend his boys’ education. Moreover, the state 
in which he found the place, with everything to repair, had 
no doubt induced the owner to be accommodating. Thus M. 
d’Espard had been able to go to some expense to settle him- 
self suitably without being accused of extravagance. ‘The 
loftiness of the rooms, the paneling, of which nothing sur- 
vived but the frames, the decoration of the ceilings, all dis- 
played the dignity which the prelacy stamped on whatever 
it attempted or created, and which artists discern to this day 
in the smallest relic that remains, though it be but a book, 
a dress, the panel of a bookcase, or an armchair. 

The Marquis had the rooms painted in the rich brown 
tones beloved of the Dutch and of the citizens of Old Paris, 
hues which lend such good effects to the painter of genre. 
The panels were hung with plain paper in harmony with the 
paint. The window curtains were of inexpensive materials, 
but chosen so as to produce a generally happy result; the 
furniture was not too crowded and judiciously placed. Any 
one on going into this home could not resist a sense of sweet. 
peacefulness, produced by the perfect calm, the stillness 
which prevailed, by the unpretentious unity of color, the 
keeping of the picture, in the words a painter might use. 
A certain nobleness in the details, the exquisite cleanliness 
of the furniture, and a perfect concord of men and things, 
all brought the word “suavity” to the lips. 

Few persons were admitted to the rooms used by the Mar- 
quis and his two sons, whose life might perhaps seem mys- 
terious to their neighbors. In a wing towards the street, on 
the third floor, there are three large rooms which had been 
left in the state of dilapidation and grotesque bareness to 
which they had been reduced by the printing works. These 
three rooms, devoted to the evolution of the Picturesque His- 
tory of China, were contrived to serve as a writing-room, a 
depository, and a private room, where M. d’Espard sat during 
part of the day; for after breakfast till four in the afternoon 





THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 309 


the Marquis remained in this room on the third floor to work 
at the publication he had undertaken. Visitors wanting to 
see him commonly found him there, and often the two boys 
on their return from school resorted thither. Thus the 
ground-floor rooms were a sort of sanctuary where the father 
and sons spent their time from the hour of dinner till the 
next day, and his domestic life was carefully closed against 
the public eye. 

His only servants were a cook—an old woman who had 
long been attached to his family—and a man-servant forty 
years old, who was with him when he married Mademoiselle 
de Blamont. His children’s nurse had also remained with 
them, and the minute care to which the apartment bore wit- 
ness revealed the sense of order and the maternal affection 
expended by this woman in her master’s interest, in the man- 
agement of his house, and the charge of his children. These 
three good souls, grave and uncommunicative folk, seemed to 
have entered into the idea which ruled the Marquis’ domestic 
life. And the contrast between their habits and those of 
most servants was a peculiarity which cast an air of mystery 
over the house, and fomented the calumny to which M. d’Ks- 
pard himself lent occasion. Very laudable motives had made 
him determine never to be on visiting terms with any of the 
other tenants in the house. In undertaking to educate his 
boys he wished to keep them from all contact with strangers. 
Perhaps, too, he wished to avoid the intrusion of neighbors. 

In a man of his rank, at a time when the Quartier Latin 
was distracted by Liberalism, such conduct was sure to rouse 
in opposition a host of petty passions, of feelings whose folly 
is only to be measured by their meanness, the outcome of 
porters’ gossip and malevolent tattle from door to door, all 
unknown to M. d’Espard and his retainers. His man-servant 
was stigmatized as a Jesuit, his cook as a sly fox; the nurse 
was in collusion with Madame Jeanrenaud to rob the mad- 
man. ‘The madman was the Marquis. By degrees the other 
tenants came to regard as proofs of madness a number of 
things they had noticed in M. d’Hspard, and passed through 


360 THE. COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


the sieve of their judgment without discerning any reason- 
able motive for them. 

Having no belief in the success of the History of China, 
they had managed to convince the landlord of the house that 
M. d’Espard had no money just at a time when, with the for- 
getfulness which often befalls busy men, he had allowed the 
tax-collector to send him a summons for non-payment of 
arrears. The landlord had forthwith claimed his quarter’s 
rent from January 1st by sending in a receipt, which the 
porter’s wife had amused herself by detaining. On the 15th 
a summons to pay was served on M. d’Espard, the portress 
had delivered it at her leisure, and he supposed it to be some 
misunderstanding, not conceiving of any incivility from a 
man in whose house he had been living for twelve years. The 
Marquis was actually seized by a bailiff at the time when his 
man-servant had gone to carry the money for the rent to the 
landlord. 

This arrest, assiduously reported to the persons with whom 
he was in treaty for his undertaking, had alarmed some of 
them who were already doubtful of M. d’Espard’s solvency 
in consequence of the enormous sums which Baron Jeanre- 
naud and his mother were said to be receiving from him. 
And, indeed, these suspicions on the part of the tenants, the 
creditors, and the landlord had some excuse in the Marquis’ 
extreme economy in housekeeping. He conducted it as a 
ruined man might. His servants always paid in ready money 
for the most trifling necessaries of life, and acted as not choos- 
ing to take credit; if now they had asked for anything on 
credit, it would probably have been refused, calumnious gossip 
had been so widely believed in the neighborhood. There are 
tradesmen who like those of their customers who pay badly 
when they see them often, while they hate others, and very 
good ones, who hold themselves on too high a level to allow 
of any familiarity as chums, a vulgar but expressive word. 
Men are made so; in almost every class they will allow to a 
gossip, or a vulgar soul that flatters them, facilities and favors 
they refuse to the superiority they resent, in whatever form 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 861 


it may show itself. The shopkeeper who rails at the Court 
has his courtiers. 

In short, the manners of the Marquis and his children 
were certain to arouse ill-feeling in their neighbors, and to 
work them up by degrees to the pitch of malevolence when 
men do not hesitate at an act of meanness if only it may dam- 
age the adversary they have themselves created. 

M. d’Espard was a gentleman, as his wife was a lady, by 
birth and breeding; noble types, already so rare in France 
that the observer can easily count the persons who per- 
fectly realize them. ‘These two characters are based on prim- 
itive ideas, on beliefs that may be called innate, on habits 
formed in infancy, and which have ceased to exist. To be- 
heve in pure blood, in a privileged race, to stand in thought 
above other men, must we not from birth have measured the 
distance which divides patricians from the mob? ‘To com- 
mand, must we not have never met our equal? And finally, 
must not education inculcate the ideas with which Nature 
inspires those great men on whose brow she has placed a 
crown before their mother has ever set a kiss there? These 
ideas, this education, are no longer possible in France, where 
for forty years past chance has arrogated the right of making 
noblemen by dipping them in the blood of battles, by gilding 
them with glory, by crowning them with the halo of genius; 
where the abolition of entail and of eldest sonship, by fritter- 
ing away estates, compels the nobleman to attend to his own 
business instead of attending to affairs of state, and where 
personal greatness can only be such greatness as is acquired 
by long and patient toil: quite a new era. 

Regarded as a relic of that great institution known as 
feudalism, M. d’Espard deserved respectful admiration. If 
he believed himself to be by blood the superior of other men, 
he also believed in all the obligations of nobility; he had 
the virtues and the strength it demands. He had brought up 
his children in his own principles, and taught them from 
the cradle the religion of their caste. A deep sense of their 
own dignity, pride of name, the conviction that they were 


362 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


by birth great, gave rise in them to a kingly pride, the courage © 
of knights, and the protecting kindness of a baronial lord; 
their manners, harmonizing with their notions, would have 
become princes, and offended all the world of the Rue de la 
Montagne-Sainte-Geneviéve—a world, above all others, of 
equality, where every one believed that M. d’Hspard was 
ruined, and where all, from the lowest to the highest, refused 
the privileges of nobility to a nobleman without money, be- 
cause they all were ready to allow an enriched bourgeois to 
usurp them. Thus the lack of communion between this 
family and other persons was as much moral as it was 
physical. 

In the father and the children alike, their personality har- 
monized with the spirit within. M. d’Espard, at this time 
about fifty, might have sat as a model to represent the aris- 
tocracy of birth in the nineteenth century. He was slight 
and fair; there was in the outline and general expression 
of his face a native distinction which spoke of lofty senti- 
ments, but it bore the impress of a deliberate coldness which 
commanded respect a little too decidedly. His aquiline nose 
bent at the tip from left to right, a slight crookedness which 
was not devoid of grace; his blue eyes, his high forehead, 
prominent enough at the brows to form a thick ridge that 
checked the light and shaded his eyes, all indicated a spirit 
of rectitude, capable of perseverance and perfect loyalty, 
while it gave a singular look to his countenance. This pent- 
house forehead might, in fact, hint at a touch of madness, 
and his thick-knitted eyebrows added to the apparent eccen- 
tricity. He had the white well-kept hands of a gentleman; 
his foot was high and narrow. His hesitating speech—not 
merely as to his pronunciation, which was that of a stam- 
merer, but also in the expression of his ideas, his thought, 
and language—produced on the mind of the hearer the im- 
pression of a man who, in familiar phraseology, comes and 
goes, feels his way, tries everything, breaks off his gestures, 
and finishes nothing. This defect was purely superficial, and 
in contrast with the decisiveness of a firmly-set mouth, and. 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 363 


the strongly-marked character of his physiognomy. His 
rather jerky gait matched his mode of speech. These pe- 
culiarities helped to affirm his supposed insanity. In spite 
of his elegant appearance, he was systematically parsimonious 
in his personal expenses, and wore the same black frock-coat 
for three or four years, brushed with extreme care by his old 
man-servant. 

As to the children, they both were handsome, and en- 
dowed with a grace which did not exclude an expression of 
aristocratic disdain. They had the bright coloring, the clear 
eye, the transparent flesh which reveal habits of purity, regu- 
larity of life, and a due proportion of work and play. They 
both had black hair and blue eyes, and a twist in their nose, 
like their father; but their mother, perhaps, had transmitted 
to them the dignity of speech, of look and mien, which are 
hereditary in the Blamont-Chauvrys. Their voices, as clear 
as crystal, had an emotional quality, the softness which proves 
so seductive; they had, in short, the voice a woman would 
willingly listen to after feeling the flame of their looks. But, 
above all, they had the modesty of pride, a chaste reserve, a 
touch-me-not which at a maturer age might have seemed 
intentional coyness, so much did their demeanor inspire a 
wish to know them. The elder, Comte Clément de Négre- 
pelisse, was close upon his sixteenth year. For the last two 
years he had ceased to wear the pretty English round jacket 
which his brother, Vicomte Camille d’Espard, still wore. 
The Count, who for the last six months went no more to 
the Collége Henri IV., was dressed in the style of a young 
man enjoying the first pleasures of fashion. His father 
had not wished to condemn him to a year’s useless study of 
philosophy; he was trying to give his knowledge some con- 
sistency by the study of transcendental mathematics. At 
the same time, the Marquis was having him taught Eastern 
languages, the international law of Europe, heraldry, and 
history from the original sources—charters, early documents, 
and collections of edicts. Camille had lately begun to study 
rhetoric. 


564 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


The day when Popinot arranged to go to question M. — 
d’Espard was a Thursday, a holiday. At about nine in 
the morning, before their father was awake, the brothers 
were playing in the garden. Clément was finding it hard to 
refuse his brother, who was anxious to go to the shooting- 
gallery for the first time, and who begged him to second his 
request to the Marquis. The Viscount always rather took ad- 
vantage of his weakness, and was very fond of wrestling with 
his brother. So the couple were quarreling and fighting in 
play lke schoolboys. As they ran in the garden, chasing each 
other, they made so much noise as to wake their father, who 
came to the window without their perceiving him in the heat 
of the fray. The Marquis amused himself with watching 
his two children twisted together like snakes, their faces 
flushed by the exertion of their strength; their complexion 
was rose and white, their eyes flashed sparks, their limbs 
writhed like cords in the fire; they fell, sprang up again, and 
caught each other like athletes in a circus, affording their 
father one of those moments of happiness which would make 
amends for the keenest anxieties of a busy life. Two other 
persons, one on the second and one on the first floor, were 
also looking into the garden, and saying that the old mad- 
man was amusing himself by making his children fight. 
Immediately a number of heads appeared at the windows; 
the Marquis, noticing them, called a word to his sons, who at 
once climbed up to the window and jumped into his room, 
and Clément obtained the permission asked by Camille. 

All through the house every one was talking of the Mar- 
quis’ new form of insanity. When Popinot arrived at about 
twelve o’clock, accompanied by his clerk, the portress, when 
asked for M. d’Espard, conducted him to the third floor, 
telling his “as how M. d’Espard, no longer ago than that 
very morning, had set on his two children to fight, and 
laughed like the monster he was on seeing the younger biting 
the elder till he bled, and as how no doubt he longed to see 
them kill each other—Don’t ask me the reason why,” she 
added; “he doesn’t know himself!” 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 365 


Just as the woman spoke these decisive words, she had 
brought the judge to, the landing on the third floor, face to 
face with a door covered with notices announcing the suc- 
cessive numbers of the Picturesque History of China. The 
muddy floor, the dirty banisters, the door where the printers 
had left their marks, the dilapidated window, and the ceiling 
on which the apprentices had amused themselves with draw- 
ing monstrosities with the smoky flare of their tallow dips, 
the piles of paper and litter heaped up in the corners, in- 
tentionally or from sheer neglect—in short, every detail of 
the picture lying before his eyes, agreed so well with the 
facts alleged by the Marquise that the judge, in spite of his 
impartiality, could not help believing them. 

“There you are, gentlemen,” said the porter’s wife; “there 
is the manifactor, where the Chinese swallow up enough to 
feed the whole neighborhood.” 

The clerk looked at the judge with a smile, and Popinot 
found it hard to keep his countenance. They went together 
into the outer room, where sat an old man, who, no doubt, 
performed the functions of office clerk, shopman, and 
cashier. This old man was the Maitre Jacques of China. 
Along the walls ran long shelves, on which the published 
numbers lay in piles. A partition in wood, with a grating 
lined with green curtains, cut off the end of the room, form- 
ing a private office. A till with a sht to admit or disgorge 
crown pieces indicated the cash-desk. 

“M. d’Espard?” said Popinot, addressing the man, who 
wore a gray blouse. 

The shopman opened the door into the next room, where 
the lawyer and his companion saw a venerable old man, 
white-headed and simply dressed, wearing the Cross of Saint- 
Louis, seated at a desk. He ceased comparing some sheets 
of colored prints to look up at the two visitors. This room 
was an unpretentious office, full of books and proof-sheets. 
There was a black wood table at which some one, at the mo- 
ment absent, no doubt was accustomed to work. 

“The Marquis d’Espard?” said Popinot. 


366 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


“No, monsieur,” said the old man, rising; “what do you . 
want with him?” he added, coming forward, and showing 
by his demeanor the dignified manners and habits due to a 
gentlemanly education. 

“We wish to speak to him on business exclusively personal 
to himself,” replied Popinot. 

“T)’Espard, here are some gentlemen who want to see you,” 
then said the old man, going into the furthest room, where 
the Marquis was sitting by the fire reading the newspaper. 

This innermost room had a shabby carpet, the windows 
were hung with gray holland curtains; the furniture consisted 
of a few mahogany chairs, two armchairs, a desk with a re- 
volving front, an ordinary office table, and on the chimney- 
shelf, a dingy clock and ‘two old candlesticks. The old man 
led the way for Popinot and his registrar, and pulled forward 
two chairs, as though he were master of the place; M. 
d’Espard left it to him. After the preliminary civilities, 
during which the judge watched the supposed lunatic, the 
Marquis naturally asked what was the object of this visit. 
On this Popinot glanced significantly at the old gentleman 
and the Marquis. 

“T believe, Monsieur le Marquis,” said he, “that the char- 
acter of my functions, and the inquiry that has brought me 
here, make it desirable that we should be alone, though it is 
understood by law that in such cases the inquiries have a 
sort of family publicity. I am judge on the Inferior Court 
of Appeal for the Department of the Seine, and charged 
by the President with the duty of examining you as to certain 
facts set forth in a petition for a Commission in Lunacy on 
the part of the Marquise d’Espard.” 

The old man withdrew. When the lawyer and the Mar- 
quis were alone, the clerk shut the door, and seated himself 
unceremoniously at the office table, where he laid out his 
papers and prepared to take down his notes. Popinot had 
still kept his eye on M. d’Espard; he was watching the ef- 
fect on him of this crude statement, so painful for a man 
in full possession of his reason. ‘The Marquis d’Espard, 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 367 


whose face was usually pale, as are those of fair men, sud- 
denly turned scarlet with anger; he trembled for an instant, 
sat, down, laid his paper on the chimney-piece, and looked 
down. In a moment he had recovered his gentlemanly dig- 
nity, and looked steadily at the judge, as if to read in his 
countenance the indications of his character. 

““How is it, monsieur,” he asked, “that I have had no notice 
of such a petition?” 

“Monsieur le Marquis, persons on whom such @ commis- 
sion is held, not being supposed to have the use of their rea- 
son, any notice of the petition is unnecessary. The duty of 
the Court chiefly consists in verifying the allegations of the 
petitioner.” 

“Nothing can be fairer,’ replied the Marquis. “Well, 
then, monsieur, be so good as to tell me what I ought to 
4 gee Nd ’ 

“You have only to answer my questions, omitting nothing. 
However delicate the reasons may be which may have led 
you to act in such a manner as to give Madame d’Hspard 
a pretext for her petition, speak without fear. It is un- 
necessary to assure you that lawyers know their duties, and 
that in such cases the profoundest secrecy if 

“Monsieur,” said the Marquis, whose face expressed the 
sincerest pain, “if my explanations should lead to any blame 
being attached to Madame d’Hspard’s conduct, what will be 
the result ?” 

“The Court may add its censure to its reasons for its deci- 
sion.” 

“Is such censure optional? If I were to stipulate with 
you, before replying, that nothing should be said that could 
annoy Madame d’Espard in the event of your report being 
in my favor, would the Court take my request into considera- 
tion ?” 

The judge looked at the Marquis, and the two men ex- 
changed sentiments of equal magnanimity. 

“Noel,” said Popinot to his registrar, “go into the other 
room. If you can be of use, I will call you in.—If, as I am 





368 THH COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


inclined to think,” he went on, speaking to the Marquis when 


the clerk had gone out, “I find that there is some misunder- 
standing in this case, I can promise you, monsieur, that on 
your application the Court will act with due courtesy.” 
“There is a leading fact put forward by Madame d’Espard, 
the most serious of all, of which I must beg for an explana- 


tion,” said the judge after a pause. “It refers to the dissipa- 


tion of your fortune to the advantage of a certain Madame 
Jeanrenaud, the widow of a bargemaster—or rather, to that 
of her son, Colonel Jeanrenaud, for whom you are said to 
have procured an appointment, to have exhausted your in- 
fluence with the King, and at last to have extended such 
protection as secures him a good marriage. The petition sug- 
gests that such a friendship is more devoted than any feel- 
ings, even those which morality must disapprove a 

A sudden flush crimsoned the Marquis’ face and forehead, 
tears even started to his eyes, for his eyelashes were wet, then 
wholesome pride crushed the emotions, which in a man are ac- 
counted a weakness. 

“To tell you the truth, monsieur,” said the Marquis, in a 
broken voice, “you place me in a strange dilemma. The mo- 
tives of my conduct were to have died with me. To reveal 
them I must disclose to you some secret wounds, must place 
the honor of my family in your keeping, and must speak of 
myself, a delicate matter, as you will fully understand. I 
hope, monsieur, that it will all remain a secret between us. 
You will, no doubt, be able to find in the formulas of the 
law one which will allow of judgment being pronounced with- 
out any betrayal of my confidences.” 

“So far as that goes, it is perfectly possible, Monsieur le 
Marquis.” 

“Some time after my marriage,” said M. d’Espard, “my 
wife having run into considerable expenses, I was obliged to 
have recourse to borrowing. You know what was the position 
of noble families during the Revolution; I had not been able 
to keep a steward or a man of business. Nowadays gentle- 
men are for the most part obliged to manage their affairs 





a 


THH COMMISSION IN LUNACY 369 


themselves. Most of my title-deeds had been brought to 
Paris, from Languedoe, Provence, or le Comtat, by my father, 
who dreaded, and not without reason, the inquisition which 
family title-deeds, and what was then styled the ‘parch- 
ments’ of the privileged class, brought down on the owners. 

“Our name is Négrepelisse; d’Espard is a title acquired in 
the time of Henri IV. by a marriage which brought us the 
estates and titles of the house of d’Espard, on condition of 
our bearing an escutcheon of pretence on our coat-of-arms, 
those of the house of d’Espard, an old family of Béarn, con- 
nected in the female line with that of Albret: quarterly, paly 
of or and sable; and azure two griffins’ claws armed, gules 
in saltire, with the famous motto Des partem leons. At the 
time of this alliance we lost Négrepelisse, a little town which 
was as famous during the religious struggles as was my 
ancestor who then bore the name. Captain de Négrepelisse 
was ruined by the burning of all his property, for the 
Protestants did not spare a friend of Montluc’s. 

“The Crown was unjust to M. de Négrepelisse; he received 
neither a marshal’s baton, nor a post as governor, nor any 
indemnity; King Charles IX., who was fond of him, died 
without being able to reward him; Henri IV. arranged his 
marriage with Mademoiselle d’Espard, and secured him the 
estates of that house, but all those of the Négrepelisses had 
already passed into the hands of his creditors. 

“My great-grandfather, the Marquis d’Espard, was, like 
me, placed early in life at the head of his family by the death 
of his father, who, after dissipating his wife’s fortune, left his 
son nothing but the entailed estates of the d’Espards, bur- 
dened with a jointure. The young Marquis was all the more 
straitened for money because he held a post at Court. Being 
in great favor with Louis XIV., the King’s goodwill brought 
him a fortune. But here, monsieur, a blot stained our 
escutcheon, an unconfessed and horrible stain of blood and 
disgrace which I am making it my business to wipe out. I 
discovered the secret among the deeds relating to the estate 
of Négrepelisse and the packets of letters.” 


370 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


At this solemn moment the Marquis spoke without hesita- 
tion or any of the repetition habitual with him; but it is a 
matter of common observation that persons who, in ordinary 
life, are afflicted with these two defects, are freed from them 
as soon as any passionate emotion underlies their speech. 

“The Revocation of the Edict of Nantes was decreed,” he 
went on. “You are no doubt aware, monsieur, that this was 
an opportunity for many favorites to make their fortunes. 
Louis XIV. bestowed on the magnates about his Court the 
confiscated lands of those Protestant families who did not 
take the prescribed steps for the sale of their property. Some 
persons in high favor went ‘Protestant-hunting,’ as the phrase 
was. I have ascertained beyond a doubt that the fortune en- 
joyed to this day by two ducal families is derived from lands 
seized from hapless merchants. 

“T will not attempt to explain to you, a man of law, all 
the manceuvres employed to entrap the refugees who had 
large fortunes to carry away. It is enough to say that the 
lands of Négrepelisse, comprising twenty-two churches and 
rights over the town, and those of Gravenges which had for- 
merly belonged to us, were at that time in the hands of a 
Protestant family. My grandfather recovered them by gift 
from Louis XIV. This gift was effected by documents hall- 
marked by atrocious iniquity. ‘The owner of these two 
estates, thinking he would be able to return, had gone through 
the form of a sale, and was going to Switzerland to join his 
family, whom he had sent in advance. He wished, no doubt, 
to take advantage of every delay granted by the law, so as to 
settle the concerns of his business. 

“This man was arrested by order of the governor, the 
trustee confessed the truth, the poor merchant was hanged, 
and my ancestor had the two estates. I would gladly have 
been able to ignore the share he took in the plot; but the 
governor was his uncle on the mother’s side, and I have un- 
fortunately read the letter in which he begged him to apply 
to Deodatus, the name agreed upon by the Court to designate 
the King. In this letter there is a tone of jocosity with refer- 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 371 


ence to the victim, which filled me with horror. In the end, 
the sums of money sent by the refugee family to ransom the 
poor man’s life were kept by the governor, who despatched 
the merchant all the same.” 

The Marquis paused, as though the memory of it were 
still too heavy for him to bear. 

“This unfortunate family were named Jeanrenaud,” he 
went on. “That name is enough to account for my conduct. 
I could never think without keen pain of the secret disgrace 
that weighed on my family. That fortune enabled my grand- 
father to marry a demoiselle de Navarreins-Lansac, heiress 
to the younger branch of that house, who were at that time 
much richer than the elder branch of the Navarreins. My 
father thus became one of the largest landowners in the 
kingdom. He was able to marry my mother, a Grandlieu of 
the younger branch. Though ill-gotten, this property has 
been singularly profitable. 

“For my part, being determined to remedy the mischief, 
I wrote to Switzerland, and knew no peace till I was on the 
traces of the Protestant victim’s heirs. At last I discovered 
that the Jeanrenauds, reduced to abject want, had left Fri- 
bourg and returned to live in France. Finally, I found in 
M. Jeanrenaud, lieutenant in a cavalry regiment under Na- 
poleon, the sole heir of this unhappy family. In my eyes, 
monsieur, the rights of the Jeanrenauds were clear. ‘T'o es- 
tablish a prescriptive right is it not necessary that there 
should have been some possibility of proceeding against those 
who are in the enjoyment of it? To whom could these 
refugees have appealed? Their Court of Justice was on high, 
or rather, monsieur, it was here,’ and the Marquis struck 
his hand on his heart. “I did not choose that my children 
should be able to think of me as I have thought of my father 
and of my ancestors. I aim at leaving them an unblemished 
inheritance and escutcheon. I did not choose that nobility 
should be a lie in my person. And, after all, politically speak- 
ing, ought those émigrés who are now appealing against revo- 
lutionary confiscations, to keep the property derived from an- 
tecedent confiscations by positive crimes? 


372 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


“T found in M. Jeanrenaud and his mother the most per- 
verse honesty; to hear them you would suppose that they 
were robbing me. In spite of all I could say, they will ac- 
cept no more than the value of the lands at the time when 
the King bestowed them on my family. The price was 
settled between us at the sum of eleven hundred thousand 
frances, which I was to pay at my convenience and without 
interest. ‘To achieve this I had to forego my income for a 
long time. And then, monsieur, began the destruction of 
some illusions I had allowed myself as to Madame d’Espard’s 
character. When I proposed to her that we should leave 
Paris and go into the country, where we could live respected 
on half of her income, and so more rapidly complete a resti- 
tution of which I spoke to her without going into the more 
serious details, Madame d’Espard treated me as a madman. 
I then understood my wife’s real character. She would have 
approved of my grandfather’s conduct without a scruple, and 
have laughed at the Huguenots. Terrified by her coldness, and 
her little affection for her children, whom she abandoned to 
me without a regret, I determined to leave her the command 
of her fortune, after paying our common debts. It was no 
business of hers, as she told me, to pay for my follies. As 
I then had not enough to live on and pay for my sons’ educa- 
tion, I determined to educate them myself, to make them 
gentlemen and men of feeling. By investing my money in 
the funds I have been enabled to pay off my obligation sooner 
than I had dared to hope, for I took advantage of the op- 
portunities afforded by the improvement in prices. If I 
had kept four thousand francs a year for my boys and my- 
self, I could only have paid off twenty thousand crowns 
a year, and it would have taken almost eighteen years to 
achieve my freedom. As it is, I have lately repaid the whole 
of the eleven hundred thousand francs that were due. Thus 
I enjoy the happiness of having made this restitution without 
doing my children the smallest wrong. 

“These, monsieur, are the reasons for the payments made 
to Madame Jeanrenaud and her son.” 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 373 


“So Madame d’Espard knew the motives of your retire- 
ment?” said the judge, controlling the emotion he felt at 
this narrative. 

“Yes, monsieur.” 

_Popinot gave an expressive shrug; he rose and opened the 
door into the next room. 

“Noél, you can go,” said he to his clerk. 

“Monsieur,” he went on, “though what you have told me 
is enough to enlighten me thoroughly, I should like to hear 
what you have to say to the other facts put forward in the 
petition. For instance, you are here carrying on a business 
such as is not habitually undertaken by a man of rank.” 

“We cannot discuss that matter here,” said the Marquis, 
signing to the judge to quit the room. “Nouvion,” said he 
to the old man, “I am going down to my rooms; the chil- 
dren will soon be in; dine with us.” | 

“Then, Monsieur le Marquis,” said Popinot on the stairs, 
“that is not your apartment ?” 

“No, monsieur; I took those rooms for the office of this 
undertaking. You see,’ and he pointed to an advertisement 
sheet, “the History is being brought out by one of the most 
respectable firms in Paris, and not by me.” 

The Marquis showed the lawyer into the ground-floor 
rooms, saying, “This is my apartment.” 

Popinot was quite touched by the poetry, not aimed at but 
pervading this dwelling. The weather was lovely, the win- 
dows were open, the air from the garden brought in a whole- 
some earthy smell, the sunshine brightened and gilded the 
woodwork, of a rather gloomy brown. At the sight Popinot 
made up his mind that a madman would hardly be capable 
of inventing the tender harmony of which he was at. that 
moment conscious. | 

“T should like just such an apartment,” thought he. “You 
think of leaving this part of the town ?” he inquired. 

“I hope so,” replied the Marquis. “But I shall remain till 
my younger son has finished his studies, and till the children’s 
character is thoroughly formed, before introducing them to 


374 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


the world and to their mother’s circle. Indeed, after giving 
them the solid information they possess, 1 intend to com- 
plete it by taking them to travel to the capitals of Europe, 
that they may see men and things, and become accustomed to 
speak the languages they have learned. And, monsieur,” he 
went on, giving the judge a chair in the drawing-room, “I 
could not discuss the book on China with you, in the pres- 
ence of an old friend of my family, the Comte de Nouvion, 
who, having emigrated, has returned to France without any 
fortune whatever, and who is my partner in this concern, 
less for my profit than his. Without telling him what my 
motives were, I explained to him that I was as poor as he, 
but that [ had enough money to start a speculation in which 
he might be usefully employed. My tutor was the Abbé 
Grozier, whom Charles X. on my recommendation appointed 
Keeper of the Books at the Arsenal, which were returned 
to that Prince when he was still Monsieur. The Abbé Grozier 
was deeply learned with regard to China, its manners and 
customs; he made me heir to this knowledge at an age when 
it is difficult not to become a fanatic for the things we learn. 
At five-and-twenty I knew Chinese, and I confess I have 
never been able to check myself in an exclusive admiration 
for that nation, who conquered their conquerors, whose an- 
nals extend back indisputably to a period more remote than 
mythological or Bible times, who by their immutable institu- 
tions have preserved the integrity of their empire, whose 
monuments are gigantic, whose administration is perfect, 
among whom revolutions are impossible, who have regarded 
ideal beauty as a barren element in art, who have carried 
luxury and industry to such a pitch that we cannot outdo 
them in anything, while they are our equals in things where 
we believe ourselves superior. 

“Still, monsieur, though I often make a jest of comparing 
China with the present condition of European states, I am 
not a Chinaman, I am a French gentleman. If you enter- 
tain any doubts as to the financial side of this undertaking, 
I can prove to you that at this moment we have two thousand 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 3875 


five hundred subscribers to this work, which is literary, icono- 
graphical, statistical, and religious; its importance has been 
generally appreciated; our subscribers belong to every na- 
tion in Europe, we have but twelve hundred in France. Our 
book will cost about three hundred francs, and the Comte de 
Nouvion will derive from it from six to seven thousand 
francs a year, for his comfort was the real motive of the un- 
dertaking. For my part, I aimed only at the possibility of 
affording my children some pleasures. The hundred thou- 
sand francs I have made, quite in spite of myself, will pay 
for their fencing lessons, horses, dress, and theatres, pay the 
masters who teach them accomplishments, procure them can- 
vases to spoil, the books they may wish to buy, in short, all the 
little fancies which a father finds so much pleasure ir gratify- 
ing. If I had been compelled to refuse these indulgences to 
my poor boys, who are so good and work so hard, the sacri- 
fice I made to the honor of my name would have been doubly 
painful. 

“In point of fact, the twelve years I have spent in retire- 
ment from the world to educate my children have led to my 
being completely forgotten at Court. I have given up the 
eareer of politics; I have lost my historical fortune, and all 
the distinctions which I might have acquired and bequeathed 
to my children; but our house will have lost nothing; my 
boys will be men of mark. Though I have missed the 
senatorship, they will win it nobly by devoting themselves 
to the affairs of the country, and doing such service as is 
not soon forgotten. While purifying the past record of my 
family, I have insured it a glorious future; and is not that 
to have achieved a noble task, though in secret and without 
glory?’—And now, monsieur, have you any other explana- 
tions to ask me?” : 

At this instant the tramp of horses was heard in the court- 
yard. 

“Here they are!” said the Marquis. In a moment the two 
lads, fashionably but plainly dressed, came into the room, 
booted, spurred, and gloved, and flourishing their riding- 


3at6 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


whips. Their beaming faces brought in the freshness of the 
outer air; they were brilliant with health. They both grasped 
their father’s hand, giving him a look, as friends do, a glance 
of unspoken affection, and then they bowed coldly to the law- 
yer. Popinot felt that it was quite unnecessary to question 
the Marquis as to his relations towards his sons. 

“Have you enjoyed yourselves?” asked the Marquis. 

“Yes, father; I knocked down six dolls in twelve shots at 
the first trial!’ cried Camille. 

‘And where did you ride?” 

“Tn the Bois; we saw my mother.” 

“Did she stop?” 

“We were riding so fast just then that I daresay she did » 
not see us,” replied the young Count. 

“But, then, why did you not go to speak to her?” 

“T fancy I have noticed, father, that she does not care that 
we should speak to her in public,” said Clément in an under- 
tone. “We are a little too big.” 

The judge’s hearing was keen enough to catch these words, 
which brought a cloud to the Marquis’ brow. Popinot took 
pleasure in contemplating the picture of the father and his: 
boys. His eyes went back with a sense of pathos to M. 
d’Espard’s face; his features, his expression, and his manner 
all expressed honesty in its noblest aspect, intellectual and 
chivalrous honesty, nobility in all its beauty. 

“You—you see, monsieur,” said the Marquis, and his hesi- 
tation had returned, “you see that Justice may look in—in 
here at any time—yes, at any time—here. If there is any- 
body crazy, it can only be the children—the children—who 
are a little crazy about their father, and the father who is 
very crazy about his children—but that sort of madness rings 
true.” 

At this juncture Madame Jeanrenaud’s voice was heard in 
the ante-room, and the good woman came bustling in, in spite 
of the man-servant’s remonstrances. 

“T take no roundabout ways, I can tell you!”’ she exclaimed. 
“Yes, Monsieur le Marquis, I want to speak to you, this 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 377 


very minute,” she went on, with a comprehensive bow to the 
company. “By George, and I am too late as it is, since Mon- 
sieur the criminal Judge is before me.” 

“Criminal!” cried the two boys. 

“Good reason why I did not find you at your own house, 
since you are here. Well, well! the Law is always to the fore 
when there is mischief brewing.—I came, Monsieur le Mar- 
quis, to tell you that my son and I are of one mind to give 
you everything back, since our honor is threatened. My son 
and I, we had rather give you back everything than cause 
you the smallest trouble. My word, they must be as stupid as 
pans without handles to call you a lunatic i 

“A lunatic! My father?” exclaimed the boys, clinging to 
the Marquis. “What is this?” 

“Silence, madame,” said Popinot. 

“Children, leave us,” said the Marquis. 

The two boys went into the garden without a word, but 
very much alarmed. 

“Madame,” said the judge, “the moneys paid to you by 
Monsieur le Marquis were legally due, though given to you 
in virtue of a very far-reaching theory of honesty. If all the 
people possessed of confiscated goods, by whatever cause, even 
if acquired by treachery, were compelled to make restitution 
every hundred and fifty years, there would be few legitimate 
owners in France. The possessions of Jacques Coeur enriched 
twenty noble families; the confiscations pronounced by the 
English to the advantage of their adherents at the time when 
they held a part of France made the fortune of several 
princely houses. 

“Our law allows M. d’Espard to dispose of his income with- 
out accounting for it, or suffering him to be accused of its 
misapplication. A Commission in Lunacy can only be granted 
when a man’s actions are devoid of reason; but in this case, 
the remittances made to you have a reason based on the most 
sacred and most honorable motives. Hence you may keep 
it all without remorse, and leave the world to misinterpret 
a noble action. In Paris, the highest virtue is the object of 





378 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


the foulest calumny. It is, unfortunately, the present con-— 
dition of society that makes the Marquis’ actions sublime. 
For the honor of my country, I would that such deeds were 
regarded as a matter of course; but, as things are, I am 
forced by comparison to look upon M. d’Hspard as a man to 
whom a crown should be awarded, rather than that he should 
be threatened with a Commission in Lunacy. 

“In the course of a long professional career, I have seen 
and heard nothing which has touched me more deeply than 
that I have just seen and heard. But it is not extraordinary 
that virtue should wear its noblest aspect when it is prac- 
tised by men of the highest class. 

“Having heard me express myself in this way, I hope, Mon- 
sieur le Marquis, that you feel certain of my silence, and that 
you will not for a moment be uneasy as to the decision pro- 
nounced in the case—if it comes before the Court.” 

“There, now! Well said,” cried Madame Jeanrenaud. 
“That is something like a judge! Look here, my dear sir, 
I would hug you if I were not so ugly; you speak like a 
book.” 

The Marquis held out his hand to Popinot, who gently 
pressed it with a look full of sympathetic comprehension at 
this great man in private life, and the Marquis responded 
with a pleasant smile. These two natures, both so large and 
full—one commonplace but divinely kind, the other lofty and — 
sublime—had fallen into unison gently, without a jar, with- 
out a flash of passion, as though two pure lights had been 
merged into one. The father of a whole district felt himself 
worthy to grasp the hand of this man who was doubly noble, 
and the Marquis felt in the depths of his soul an instinct 
that told him that the judge’s hand was one of those from 
which the treasures of inexhaustible beneficence perennially 
flow. 

“Monsieur le Marquis,” added Popinot, with a bow, “I am 
happy to be able to tell you that, from the first words of this 
inquiry, I regarded my clerk as quite unnecessary.” 

He went close to M. d’Hspard, led him into the window-bay, 


\ 


THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 379 


and said: “It is time that you should return home, monsieur. 
I believe that Madame la Marquise has acted in this matter 
under an influence which you ought at once to counteract.” 

Popinot withdrew. He looked back several times as he 
crossed the courtyard, touched by the recollection of the 
scene. It was one of those which take root in the memory 
to blossom again in certain hours when the soul seeks consola- 
tion. 

“Those rooms would just suit me,” said he to himself as he 
reached home. “If M. d’Espard leaves them, I will take up 
his lease.” 


The next day, at about ten in the morning, Popinot, who 
had written out his report the previous evening, made his way 
to the Palais de Justice, intending to have prompt and 
righteous justice done. As he went into the robing-room to 
put on his gown and bands, the usher told him that the 
President of his Court begged him to attend in his private 
room, where he was waiting for him. Popinot forthwith 
obeyed. 

“Good-morning, my dear Popinot,” said the President, “I 
have been waiting for you.” 

“Why, Monsieur le Président, is anything wrong?” 

“A mere silly trifle,’ said the President. “The Keeper of 
the Seals, with whom I had the honor of dining yesterday, 
led me apart into a corner. He had heard that you had been 
to tea with Madame d’Espard, in whose case you were em- 
ployed to make inquiries. He gave me to understand that it 
would be as well that you should not sit on this case “i 

“But, Monsieur le Président, I can prove that I left 
Madame d’Espard’s house at the moment when tea was 
brought in. And my conscience i 

“Yes, yes; the whole Bench, the two Courts, all the pro- 
fession know you. I need not repeat what I said about you 
to his Eminence; but, you know, ‘Cxesar’s wife must not be 
suspected.” So we shall not make this foolish trifle a matter 
of discipline, but only of the proprieties. Between ourselves, 
it is not on your account, but on that of the Bench.” 








380 THE COMMISSION IN LUNACY 


“But, monsieur, if you only knew the kind of woman ig 
said the judge, trying to pull his report out of his pocket. 

“TI am perfectly certain that you have proceeded in this 
matter with the strictest independence of judgment. I my- 
self, in the provinces, have often taken more than a cup of 
tea with the people I had to try; but the fact that the Keeper 
of the Seals should have mentioned it, and that you might be 
talked about, is enough to make the Court avoid any discus- 
sion of the matter. Any conflict with public opinion must 
always be dangerous for a constitutional body, even when the 
right is on its side against the public, because their weapons 
are not equal. Journalism may.say or suppose anything, and 
our dignity forbids us even to reply. In fact, I have spoken 
of the matter to your President, and M. Camusot has been 
appointed in your place on your retirement, which you will — 
signify. It is a family matter, so to speak. And I now beg 
you to signify your retirement from the case as a personal 
favor. To make up, you will get the Cross of the Legion of 
Honor, which has so long been due to you. I make that my 
business.” 

When he saw M. Camusot, a judge recently called to Paris 
from a provincial Court of the same class, as he went for- 
ward bowing to the Judge and the President, Popinot could 
not repress an ironical smile. This pale, fair young man, 
full of covert ambition, looked ready to hang and unhang, 
atthe pleasure of any earthly king, the innocent and the 
guilty alike, and to follow the example of a Laubardemont 
rather than that of a Molé. 

Popinot withdrew with a bow; he scorned to deny the lying 
accusation that had been brought against him. 





PARIs, February 1836. 


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